NWERSIT''  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIE60 


PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

AN  ASPECT  OF  CITIZENSHIP 


PUBLIC   MINDEDNESS 

AN  ASPECT  OF  CITIZENSHIP  CONSID- 
ERED   IN    VARIOUS    ADDRESSES 
GIVEN   WHILE   PRESIDENT   OF 
DARTMOUTH    COLLEGE 


BY 
WILLIAM   JEWETT   TUCKER 


THE    RVMFOFU3  PRESS 
CONCORD-NEW  HAMPSHIRE 


CONCORD 

1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1909, 
BY  THE   RUMFORD  PRESS 


TO   MY   WIFE 

BY  THE  AID  OF  WHOSE    HELPFUL   CRITICISM  THESE 

PAPERS  HAVE  BEEN   MADE   READY 

FOR  PUBLICATION 


PREFACE 

The  accepted  definition  of  a  citizen  is  that  of  "a  person  who 
enjoys  the  privileges  of  a  city  or  state."  Citizenship  is  the 
"status"  of  a  person  enjoying  these  privileges.  There  is  as  yet 
no  sufficient  recognition,  either  in  idea  or  in  fact,  of  the  quality 
of  public  mindedness  as  inherent  in  citizenship.  If  we  wish  to 
emphasize  this  quality  we  are  still  obliged  to  speak  of  "good"  cit- 
izenship. The  title  of  the  present  book  is  a  reminder  of  this 
deficiency.  It  implies  that  the  discrimination  may  fairly  be  made 
between  citizens  who  use  their  citizenship  to  guarantee  their  private 
interests,  and  citizens  who  also  use  their  citizenship  with  supreme 
regard  to  the  public  good. 

As  indicated  on  the  title  page,  discussion  is  here  carried  on 
through  occasional  addresses  given  during  the  period  of  my  service 
as  President  of  Dartmouth  College  (1893-1909).  The  traditions 
attaching  to  the  office  of  the  president  of  a  New  England  college 
call  for  a  very  considerable  amount  of  public  address,  not  only  in 
reference  to  the  college  itself  but  also  in  regard  to  many  matters 
of  general  interest  and  concern.  Very  likely,  under  the  present 
requirements  of  specialized  knowledge,  a  college  president  may 
cover  too  much  ground  in  these  outside  addresses.  There  is,  how- 
ever, a  difference  in  the  demand  which  different  subjects  put  upon 
him.  Some  lie  close  to  his  own  work  or  thought,  some  readily  yield 
to  such  investigations  as  a  trained  mind  may  be  able  to  make, 
others  manifestly  lie  beyond  his  reach,  requiring  either  highly 
specialized  training,  or  such  constant  familiarity  and  close  knowl- 
edge as  is  required,  for  example,  in  a  discussion  of  current  party 
politics.  But  the  relation  of  the  higher  education  to  most  of  the 
public  needs  which  are  involved  in  citizenship  is  direct  and  inti- 
mate. College  men  are  set  toward  those  professions  or  toward 
those  businesses  in  which,  whatever  may  be  the  service  which  they 
can  render  through  their  calling,  they  ought  to  be  pre-eminently 
citizens.  The  willing  and  intelligent  fulfillment  of  the  duties  of 
citizenship  is  the  price  which  educated  men  may  reasonably  be  asked 


Tiii  PREFACE 

to  pay  for  the  privileges  of  democracy.  Every  college  also  has  its  lo- 
cal environment  which  ought  to  be  recognized  on  suitable  occasions. 
The  individual  college  and  the  individual  state  are  mutually  related. 
The  relation  of  Dartmouth  College  to  the  State  of  New  Hamp- 
shire has  called  out  several  of  the  addresses  which  are  included 
in  this  book.  Some  others  relate  to  events  which  took  place  within 
the  borders  of  the  State,  in  which  the  State  itself  took  part.  When 
I  assumed  the  presidency  of  Dartmouth  College  it  seemed  to  me 
that  in  many  ways  its  interests  were  identical  with  those  of  the 
State  of  New  Hampshire.  Each  had  had  a  great  history,  but 
neither  could  rely  upon  its  history  for  the  advancement  of  its  inter- 
ests. It  was  evident  that  under  right  co-operation  the  interest  of 
both  might  be  advanced  to  a  degree  corresponding  with  their  mutual 
inheritance.  So  far  from  developing  any  spirit  of  provincialism, 
it  was  considered  that  the  development,  in  all  legitimate  ways,  of  the 
spirit  of  self-respect  would  entitle  each  to  its  largest  place  and  its 
largest  influence  in  the  nation. 

It  is  an  open  question  whether  the  spoken  word,  especially  in  the 
form  of  an  occasional  address,  ought  to  be  allowed  a  second  hearing 
or  be  put  on  duty  a  second  time.  My  apology  for  recalling  these 
addresses,  which  were  chiefly  called  out  by  occasions,  is  that  as  ar- 
ranged they  have  a  certain  cumulative  effect  bearing  upon  the 
question  under  discussion.  The  earlier  addresses,  not  necessarily 
earlier  in  time  but  in  arrangement,  have  to  do  with  some  of  the 
present  needs  and  requirements  of  citizenship.  Incidentally  yet 
directly  principles  of  good  citizenship  are  discussed.  Later, 
addresses  are  introduced  dealing  with  men  or  with  events  illustrat- 
ing in  one  way  or  another  some  aspect  of  citizenship.  And  in  the 
concluding  addresses  account  is  taken  of  various  educational 
agencies  which  may  be  expected  to  bear  their  part  in  the  training 
of  citizens.  The  discussion  at  this  point  has  been  kept  free,  as  far 
as  possible,  from  all  technical  questions  which  at  the  present  time 
fall  within  the  scope  of  the  higher  education. 

W.  J.  TUCKER. 
Hanover,  N.  H.,  December  15,  I909. 


CONTENTS 

CHAFTEK  PAGE 

I.    GOOD  CITIZENSHIP  DEPENDENT  UPON  GREAT 

CITIZENS 1 

Address  at  the  Federation  of  Churches,  Carnegie 
Hall,  New  York,  November  17,  1905. 

II.    THE    SACREDNESS    OF    CITIZENSHIP   ...  7 

Address  before  the  Religious  Educational  Asso- 
ciation, Tremont  Temple,  Boston,  May  25,  1906. 

III.  SOCIAL     RIGHTEOUSNESS 16 

Address  before  the  Faculty  and  Students,  Union 
Theological  Seminary,  New  York,  January  18, 
1897. 

IV,  THE  SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  THE  MODERN  CITY     .  38 

Address  at  the  Semi-Centennial  of  the  City  of 
Manchester,  September  6,  1896. 

V.     THE    CONSCIENCE    OF    THE    NATION    ...  58 

Sermon  on  the  Liberation  of  Cuba,  College 
Church,  Hanover,  April  22,  1898. 

VI.    THE   REVIVAL  OF  CIVIC  PRIDE   IN  THE   COM- 
MONWEALTH      71 

Address  at  Dedication  of  State  Library  Build- 
ing, Concord,  N.  H.,  January  8,  1895. 

VII.     NEW    HAMPSHIRE    DURING    THE    PERIOD    OF 

INDUSTRIAL    RECONSTRUCTION  ...  87 

Address  before  Members  of  the  Present  and  Past 
Legislatures  of  the  State,  Concord,  N.  H.,  June 
30,  1896. 


X  CONTENTS 

CHAPTBB  PAQB 

VIII.     THE    ORIGIN    OF    THE    DARTMOUTH    COLLEGE 

CASE 109 

Speech  in  Response  to  the  Toast  "Dartmouth 
College"  at  the  Banquet  of  the  Bar  Association 
of  New  Hampshire  in  Celebration  of  the  Cen- 
tennial of  Chief  Justice  Marshall,  Manchester, 
N.  H.,  February  4,  IpOl. 

IX.     NATIONAL     UNITY 122 

A  Speech  on  the  Transfer  of  Battle  Flags  Fol- 
lowing the  Presentation  of  Memorial  Tablets  by 
the  State  of  New  Hampshire  to  the  U.  S.  S. 
Kearsarge  and  the  U.  S.  S.  Alabama,  Ports- 
mouth, September  18,  1900. 

X.    COMMODORE    PERKINS 129 

Address  at  the  Unveiling  of  the  Statue  in  State 
House  Yard,  Concord,  N.  H.,  April  25,  1902. 

XI.    THE  OWERSHIP  OF  LAND        .         .         .         .         .         156 

Address  at  the  Thirty-First  Annual  Session  of 
the  New  Hampshire  Grange,  Dover,  N.  H., 
December  20,  1904. 

XII.    "THE    MIND    OF    THE    WAGE    EARNER"       .         .         167 

Address  before  the  Twentieth  Annual  Convention 
of  the  Officials  of  Labor  Bureaus  of  America, 
Concord,  N.  H.,  July  12,  1904,  Hon.  Carroll  D. 
Wright  Presiding. 

XIIL  THE  REPEAL  OF  THE  CHARTER  OF  THE  NEW 

ENGLAND  BREEDERS'  CLUB    .    .    .    .    17T 

Address  at  a  Meeting  of  Citizens  of  Manchester, 
N.  H.,  January  14,  1906. 

XIV.    THE  TREATY  OF  PORTSMOUTH  IN  RETROSPECT        189 

Address  at  the  Unveiling  of  Commemorative 
Tablet  in  the  Navy  Yard  at  Kittery,  Me.,  Sep- 
tember 5,  1906. 

XV.    WHAT    HAS    PATRIOTISM    THE    RIGHT    TO    DE- 
MAND OF  EDUCATION 195 

Address  at  Union  League  Club,  Chicago,  Feb- 
ruary 22,  1906. 


CONTENTS  xi 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVI.    THE    HISTORIC   COLLEGE:    ITS    PLACE    IN    THE 

EDUCATIONAL    SYSTEM 204 

Inaugural  Address,  Dartmouth  College,  June  26, 
1893. 

XVII.     THE  ADMINISTRATION  OF  THE  MODERN  COL- 
LEGE     234 

Address  before  the  Wonolancet  Club,  Concord, 
N.  H.,  December  7,  1905. 

XVIII.     THE   RIGHTS  OF  THE   PERIOD  OF   EDUCATION        252 

An    Address    Given    at    Several    Gatherings    of 
Teachers,  1899- 

XIX.    ARRESTED   EDUCATION— HOW  RECOVERED       .         270 

Delivered    at    Rutland,    Vt.,    before    the    State 
Teachers'  Convention. 

XX.    THE    SCHOOL   OF    THE   COMMUNITY     ...         288 

Address  at  the  Dedication  of  the  High  School 
Building,  Newton,  Mass.,  February  22,  1898. 

XXI.    THE    PUBLIC    LIBRARY 300 

Address  at  the  Dedication  of  the  Gale  Public 
Library,  Laconia,  N.  H.,  June  9^  1903. 

XXII.    MODERN    EDUCATION    CAPABLE    OF    IDEALISM        310 

Address  at  the  Inauguration  of  President  King 
at  Oberlin,  Ohio,  May  14,  1903. 

XXIII.  NEW    IDEALS    BEFORE    THE    YOUTH    OF    THE 

COUNTRY 319 

Address  before  the  Hampton  County  Teachers* 
Convention,  Springfield,  Mass.,  October  26,  1906. 

XXIV.  THE    STUDY    OF    CONTEMPORARY    GREATNESS        336 

Lecture  before  the  Faculty  and  Cadets  of  the 
United  States  Naval  Academy,  Annapolis,  Md. 


GOOD   CITIZENSHIP  DEPENDENT  UPON 

GREAT   CITIZENS 

Address  at  the  Federation  of  Churches,  Carnegie  Hall,  New  York, 

November  17,  1905 

As  I  interpret  our  present  civic  conditions  the  chief 
fact  in  evidence  is  the  opportunity  for  influential 
and  commanding  citizenship.  I  therefore  strike  at 
once  the  note  of  greatness,  not  that  of  mere  obhga- 
tion  nor  even  of  necessity,  as  most  in  harmony  with 
my  subject.  The  first  question  about  any  urgent 
matter  of  a  pubhc  sort  is  not,  how  urgent  is  it,  but  how 
great  is  it?  What  rank  are  we  ready  to  assign  to  it 
among  the  subjects  which  demand  our  attention?  That 
is  the  question  which  I  put  in  regard  to  citizenship. 
What  rank  do  we  propose  to  give  it  among  the  compel- 
hng  objects  which  address  themselves  to  the  ambition, 
the  patient  endeavor,  or  the  consecrations  of  men?  If 
we  are  not  prepared  to  put  it  in  the  first  rank,  to  give  it 
a  place  beside  the  great  constants  in  the  service  of  state 
and  church,  or  beside  the  new  and  fascinating  open- 
ings of  science  and  industry,  it  is  quite  useless  for  us 
to  expect  any  results  from  our  discussion  of  the  need 
of  good  citizenship.  If  we  are  to  have  good  citizen- 
shij^,  as  things  are  today,  we  must  have  great  citizens. 
When  we  have  them  in  sufficient  number,  and  rightly 
distributed,  we  shall  have  practically  settled  the  ques- 
tion of  citizenship.  I  address  myself  to  one,  to  my 
mind  the  one,  solution  of  our  present  civic  troubles. 


2  PUBLIC  MINDEDXESS 

namely,  the  presence  of  men  qualified  for  leadership, 
whose  great  quahfication  is  not  a  sense  of  duty,  but 
the  joy  of  the  task.  Nothing  short  of  this  will  take 
the  men  we  want  away  from  the  fascinations  and  the 
rewards  of  private  gain. 

What  then  are  the  qualities  in  men  which  can  make 
them  able  and  willing  to  achieve  greatness  by  way  of 
citizenship?  I  name  first,  without  the  slightest  hesi- 
tancy, imagination,  the  power  to  see  beyond,  or  even 
through,  wickedness  into  righteousness.  No  great  cause 
ever  moved  far  until  it  had  taken  possession  of  the  imag- 
ination of  men.  Whatever  start  the  conscience  may 
have  given  it,  it  waited  for  the  kindled  mind  to  give  it 
movement.  Foreign  missions  in  this  country  sprang 
out  of  as  fine  a  burst  of  idealism  as  the  republic  itself. 
When  young  Mills  said  to  his  comrades  at  Williams, 
"we  ought  to  carry  the  gospel  to  dark  and  heathen 
lands,  and  we  can  do  it  if  we  will,"  the  word  of  duty 
waited  upon  the  word  of  inspiration.  We  have  had 
enough  to  say  about  the  duty  of  citizenship.  Progress 
does  not  lie  in  any  more  discussion  of  duty,  or  even  in 
the  deeper  sense  of  it.  It  is  time  for  us  to  change  our 
camping  ground — to  move  out  from  "we  ought"  to 
reform  our  cities,  into  "we  can  do  it  if  we  will."  What 
we  need  in  further  thought  about  citizenship  is  to  put 
more  of  what  Stevenson  calls  "the  purple"  into  our 
thinking;  or  if  we  are  ready  for  action,  to  give  to  that 
what  the  London  Spectator  calls  the  "Nelson  touch," 
the  fashion  which  the  old  admiral  had  of  doing  a  great 
thing  in  a  great  way  because  he  saw  it  in  its  greatness. 

Next  to  imagination  as  requisite  to  any  kind  of 
efficiency  in  citizenship,  I  put  intelligence,  that  fine  dis- 
cernment of  an  issue  which  gives  us  simplicity  in  place 


GOOD  CITIZENSHIP  3 

of  confusion.  Men  are  variously  intelligent  for  public 
uses,  every  man  after  his  own  kind.  We  ought  to  be 
careful  about  prescribing  the  method.  What  matters  it 
whether  discernment  comes  by  way  of  the  school,  or  by 
way  of  the  street?  "Wisdom  is  justified  of  all  her 
children."  Of  course  the  security  of  corrupt  men  lies 
in  the  confusion  of  good  men,  or  in  their  divided  coun- 
sels. No  matter  how  great  or  wide-spread  the  corrup- 
tion, good  men  are  absolutely  helpless  until  some  one 
arises  who  can  simplify  the  issue  and  make  it  clear  and 
imperative.  The  tendency  to  overweight  a  moral  issue, 
to  put  the  work  of  tomorrow  into  the  work  of  today, 
has  brought  many  an  attempted  reform  to  naught.  It 
requires  the  clearest  intelligence  to  place  an  issue  before 
the  public  mind,  and  to  hold  it  there,  naked  and 
unadorned,  till  the  public  mind  becomes  ashamed  of  its 
continued  presence. 

When  we  add  to  imagination  and  intelligence  the  evi- 
dent quality  of  courage  we  simply  remind  ourselves  that 
citizenship  is  in  the  militant  stage.  The  task  of  citizen- 
ship in  most  of  our  cities  is  many  years  in  arrears. 
Some  valuable  properties  have  been  irretrievably  lost. 
Other  and  greater  properties  are  in  danger.  The 
looting  of  the  public  wealth  is  not  the  work  of  one  man 
or  one  set  of  men.  It  has  become  a  recognized  industry. 
The  men  who  practice  it  are  as  highly  trained  as  men  in 
the  skilled  employments  or  in  the  professions.  They 
are  never,  of  course,  men  of  moral  courage,  and  seldom 
of  physical  courage,  but  they  have  the  courage  of  their 
position,  intrenched  as  they  are  in  power  and  equipped 
with  means.  Every  attempt  to  bring  a  set  of  political 
thieves  to  justice  is  fraught  with  personal  danger,  but 
the  danger  increases  mightily  with  the  settled  purpose 


4  PUBLIC  MIXDEDNESS 

to  break  up  the  business.  The  man  who  stands  for  that 
result  must  have  the  long  courage  of  the  campaign.  No 
one  can  tell  how  far  we  are  from  the  reign  of  honesty 
in  our  cities.  The  time  depends,  I  supjDose,  upon  the 
steadiness,  the  endurance,  the  unflinching  courage  of 
those  who  fight  our  battles.  I  know  of  no  better  motto 
for  any  man  who  dares  a  great  deliverance  for  his  city 
than  the  word  of  the  most  persistent  of  the  anti-slavery 
reformers — "I  will  not  compromise,  I  will  not  equivo- 
cate, I  will  not  retreat  a  single  inch,  and  I  will  be 
heard." 

But  why  should  we  discuss  the  question  of  citizen- 
ship in  the  Federation  of  Churches?  What  have  we  to 
add,  or  what  ought  we  to  add,  to  the  qualities  which 
make  up  the  great  citizen?  We  ought  to  add  the 
supreme  qualification,  namely,  consecration.  Consecra- 
tion supports  and  steadies  the  vision  of  duty,  it  directs 
the  trained  intelligence,  it  nerves  the  will  and  cheers  the 
heart  in  defeat,  and  above  all,  it  teaches  the  soul  the  joy 
of  self-sacrifice.  There  is  but  one  equivalent  for  the 
immense  rewards  of  private  gain,  and  that  is  the  exceed- 
ing great  reward  of  self-sacrifice.  If  a  man  does  not 
allow  himself  to  feel  the  joy  of  self-sacrifice  in  a  right- 
eous cause,  he  is  not  out  of  reach  of  the  rewards  of 
private  gain.  When  he  has  once  tasted  that  joy, 
rewards  seem  cheap.  What  money  would  bring  back 
your  missionaries  from  "dark  and  heathen  lands," 
where  their  comrades  have  fallen  and  are  falling  at 
their  side?  What  money  has  been  able  to  hold  back 
from  the  high  places  of  public  duty,  men  who  have  been 
summoned  there  out  of  the  very  midst  of  us  at  the  cost 
of  personal  enjoyment  or  professional  honor?  In  our 
demands  for  citizenship,  we  cannot  stop  short  of  the 
man  capable  of  devotion. 


GOOD  CITIZENSHIP  5 

In  declaring  then  the  attitude  of  the  churches  toward 
citizenship,  I  insist  first  upon  the  recognition  of  all  who 
are  giving  us  the  finest  illustration  of  it,  regardless  of 
name,  or  creed,  or  profession.  The  men  about  us  who 
are  rising  into  the  greatness  of  citizenship  are  the  men 
for  us  to  study,  not  to  criticise.  Let  us  beware  how  we 
say  the  word  of  the  discij^les,  "Lord,  we  saw  one  casting 
out  devils  in  thy  name  and  we  forbade  him,  because  he 
followeth  not  with  us,"  lest  we  receive  the  answer  of 
the  master,  "Forbid  him  not:  there  is  no  man  which 
shall  do  a  miracle  in  my  name  that  can  lightly  speak 
evil  of  me.  He  that  is  not  against  us  is  on  our  part." 
The  test  in  all  this  business  of  reforming  our  cities  is  the 
power  "to  cast  out  devils." 

In  the  second  place  I  insist  upon  the  duty  of  our 
churches  to  create  "so  far  as  in  them  lies"  the  condi- 
tions which  produce  the  citizen.  It  is  in  the  expression 
of  this  duty  that  I  have  been  urging  that  advance  in  the 
rank  of  citizenship  which  shall  put  it  among  the  fore- 
most privileges  of  christian  service.  I  would  have 
every  church  put  it  upon  the  list  of  great  causes  for 
which  men  are  to  pray,  and  to  which  they  are  to  give  as 
occasion  may  arise,  and  to  which  they  are  to  consecrate 
themselves.  While  the  present  emergency  lasts  I  would 
give  it  standing  with  missions  at  home  or  abroad. 

And  in  the  third  place  I  insist  upon  the  acceptance 
of  the  high  duty  and  privilege  which  co-operation  in 
citizenship  offers  as  a  means  of  making  real  to  our- 
selves and  to  all  men,  in  their  own  generation,  the  unity 
of  the  church.  Unity  is  not  an  end  to  be  striven  after 
as  men  may  strive  after  the  truth.  Truth  is  always  the 
greater  end,  even  though  the  search  after  it  may  for  the 
time  separate  a  man  from  his  brother.    Unity  comes  in 


6  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

upon  us  through  the  sense  of  a  common  need,  a  common 
duty,  and  a  common  privilege.  Suddenly,  in  the  provi- 
dence of  God,  the  churches  are  confronted  by  the  same 
imperative  and  exciting  duty,  and  lo,  in  the  doing  of  it, 
we  are  one.  In  the  immediate  providence  of  God  we 
have  been  brought,  through  a  well  nigh  universal 
demand  for  civic  righteousness,  into  one  of  tliose  great 
meeting  places  of  righteous  men  upon  whom  God  looks 
down,  "without  respect  of  persons."  Let  not  the 
church  miss  its  present  opportunity  to  realize  its  one- 
ness. Let  the  search  for  truth  go  on,  lead  where  it  will, 
but  let  righteousness,  plain,  everyday,  brotherly  right- 
eousness, have  its  day  amongst  us.  What  better  word 
could  the  great  apostle  have  for  the  men  of  today  than 
that  which  he  had  for  men  of  Iiis  own  time,  as  he  led  the 
way  out  of  the  confusions  of  their  thoughts  and  desires 
for  the  things  of  the  spirit  into  the  works  of  charity — 
"Covet  earnestly  the  best  gifts,  and  yet  show  I  unto 
you  a  more  excellent  way." 


II 

THE    SACREDNESS   OF   CITIZENSHIP 

Address  before  the  Religious  Educational  Association,  Tremont 

Temple,  Boston,  May  25,  1906 

In  the  opening  volume  of  the  series  on  Modern  His- 
tory, planned  by  the  late  Lord  Acton,  modern  history 
is  defined  politically,  and  is  dated  from  the  rise  of  the 
spirit  of  nationality.  It  is  very  doubtful,  I  think,  if 
we  have  as  yet  arrived  at  the  political  conception  of  the 
modern  world.  Other  conceptions,  born  chiefly  of  the 
discoveries  of  science,  have  thus  far  filled  the  imagina- 
tion and  developed  the  energies  of  men.  Suddenly,  at 
least  to  us  in  this  country,  there  has  come  a  conception 
of  political  power  which  we  had  not  entertained,  and 
for  which  we  are  not  prepared.  We  awake  to  find  the 
spirit  of  nationality  the  dominant  force  at  the  opening 
©f  the  century.  We  see,  at  a  glance,  that  it  has  sup- 
planted all  other  forces  of  like  nature — the  power  of 
race,  and  the  power  of  organized  religion.  A  man  no 
longer  counts,  as  we  take  note,  because  he  is  of  this  or 
that  race,  or  because  he  is  of  this  or  that  religion,  but 
because  he  is  of  this  or  that  nation.  And  on  the  other 
hand,  we  are  conscious  of  a  marked  change  in  our  atti- 
tude toward  the  government.  We  find  ourselves 
instinctively  turning  to  the  government  for  ends  which 
we  had  not  contemplated,  and  which  we  cannot  now 
exactly  define.  But  in  the  midst  of  the  overwhelming 
and  often  reckless  supremacies  of  material  power  we 
are  asking  for  something  which  shall  guarantee  to  us 


8  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

the  condition  of  human  well  being,  and  if  not  the 
government,  what  ? 

Therefore  the  new  meaning,  or  better,  the  new  valua- 
tion attaching  to  the  idea  of  citizenship,  a  word  which 
expresses  the  responsible  relation  of  the  individual  to 
this  wide  movement  which  is  stirring  the  nations,  and 
also  to  this  inner  movement  which  is  stirring  the  hearts 
of  the  people.  And  if  we  are  to  discuss  citizenship  here, 
in  these  surroundings,  I  do  not  know  of  any  lower 
terms  in  which  we  can  afford  to  discuss  it  than  those  in 
which  my  subject  has  been  cast  for  me,  namely,  "The 
Sacredness  of  Citizenship." 

We  must  be  sure  that  we  advance  our  ideals  as  the 
facts  for  which  they  stand  are  filled  with  power.  Every 
powerful  thing  must  be  capable  of  being  invested  with 
sacredness,  else  it  is  an  evil  thing — money,  position, 
knowledge.  It  is  the  chief  business  of  righteousness  to 
follow  after  power  and  after  powerful  men.  Whenever 
this  work  is  ignored  or  evaded  all  minor  tasks  are  futile. 
The  account  with  righteousness  is  not  kept  by  attention 
to  incidentals.  As  someone  has  recently  said,  "There  is 
something  grander  than  benevolence,  more  august  than 
charity:  it  is  justice."  Citizenship,  as  it  advances  to 
its  new  and  enlarging  functions,  must  become  more  and 
more  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  men  if  it  is  to  fulfill  these 
functions.  It  must  concern  itself,  according  to  our 
judgment  of  its  business,  with  "the  weightier  matters  of 
the  law."  We  must  learn  to  become  impatient  in  down- 
right earnest  with  all  easy  and  spectacular,  if  not  ques- 
tionable, substitutes  for  citizenship. 

So  much  lies  in  our  subject  without  further  saying. 
But  how  shall  we  compass  so  great  an  end,  which  is 
nothing  less  than  to  raise  the  moral  estimate  of  citizen- 


SACREDNESS  OF  CITIZENSHIP  9 

ship?  How  shall  we  who  believe  in  the  values  of  educa- 
tion contribute  to  this  end?  How  shall  we  come  out 
of  the  academic  into  the  practical,  and  say  the  tilings  we 
have  to  say,  and  do  the  things  we  have  to  do,  effectively? 
So  far  as  the  masses  are  concerned,  we  must  work,  I 
think,  in  and  through  the  concrete.  Citizenship  is  a 
matter  of  principles  and  ideals,  but  it  is  no  abstraction. 
It  is  a  matter  of  details,  which  in  their  ceaseless  and 
monotonous  return  teach  "line  upon  line  and  precept 
upon  precept."  Citizens  are  made  by  doing  the  things 
for  which  at  any  given  time  citizenship  stands.  There 
is  no  other  way  of  making  the  ordinary  citizen.  Prin- 
ciples are  established,  standards  are  set,  ideals  are  made 
clear  and  abiding  through  persistent,  or,  as  in  some 
cases,  through  aroused  and  impassioned  action.  A  cam- 
paign like  that  of  District  Attorney  Jerome  on  the  east 
side  of  New  York  is  first  education,  secondarily  pol- 
itics, with  the  outcome  in  citizenship.  We  can  educate 
somewhat  poHtically  through  the  schools,  but  for  the 
most  part  we  must  be  ready  to  take  the  field,  and  deal 
with  men  who  do  not  think  much  in  our  way,  but  who 
are  capable  of  thinking  earnestly. 

But  the  immediate  question  before  us,  and,  as  it  seems 
to  me,  the  most  serious  political  question  before  the 
country  is  not,  how  shall  we  educate,  in  the  ordinary 
sense,  those  whom  we  call  the  masses,  but  how  shall  we 
raise  in  those  already  educated  the  moral  estimate  of 
citizenship?  The  greatest  political  danger  of  our  time 
does  not  come  directly  from  ignorance,  but  from  the 
use  made  of  ignorance  by  the  intelligence  of  organized 
power,  with  the  tacit  consent  of  the  intelligence  of  cul- 
ture. Ignorance  may  be  the  condition,  it  is  not  the 
inciting  cause  of  political  corruption.     That  cause  lies 


10  PUBLIC  MIXDEDNESS 

within  the  region  of  intelligent  dishonesty.  It  is  our 
bounden  duty,  for  every  reason,  to  educate  the  ig- 
norant ;  but  it  is  a  shame  that  we  are  obliged  to  educate 
them  for  the  sake  of  protecting  ourselves  from  our  own 
trained  and  often  educated  leaders  w^ho  have  become 
adepts  in  corruption. 

It  is  as  true  today  as  when  Carlyle  said  it, — "It  is 
the  knowing  ones  who  rule."  What  do  our  "knowing 
ones"  think  about  citizenship?  What  is  the  moral  esti- 
mate which  they  put  uj)on  it?  What  is  the  moral 
estimate  which  we,  as  a  consenting  if  not  an  active  polit- 
ical part  of  the  knowing  and  ruling  ones,  put  upon  it? 
Let  us  test  very  briefly  this  moral  sense  of  citizenship 
as  it  comes  within  our  observation  or  experience. 

Citizenship,  we  shall  agree,  requires  the  faithful  use 
of  political  rights.  Rights  once  established  instantly 
become  duties,  otherwise  we  must  speak  of  them  as 
unoccupied  riglits.  An  unoccupied  political  right 
always  represents  so  much  indiff  erentism,  so  much  moral 
as  well  as  physical  absenteeism.  The  per  cent  of  unused 
rights  has  become  a  calculable  factor  in  political  man- 
ipulation. It  can  be  pretty  definitely  located  in  any 
given  community,  for  it  usually  follows  the  line  of  intel- 
ligence. We  familiarly  say  that  the  quality  of  the  vote 
in  Xew  England,  not  its  size,  depends  upon  the  weather. 
No  man  can  faithfully  use  his  political  rights  without  a 
good  deal  of  inconvenience,  personal  effort,  and  some- 
times personal  courage.  The  result  is  an  increasing 
disuse  of  political  rights  among  those  who  are  unwilling 
to  pay  the  price  of  the  right.  It  is  for  this  reason  that 
a  great  many  question  the  extension  of  political  rights, 
as  througli  woman's  suffrage.  Will  the  right  if  estab- 
lished be  occupied?  Citizenship  is  cheapened  by 
unused,  as  it  is  demoralized  by  misused,  privileges. 


SACREDNESS  OF  CITIZENSHIP        H 

Citizenship,  we  shall  emphatically  agree,  requires 
that  its  political  purity  be  kept  inviolate.  Bribery  is 
to  suffrage  what  forgery  is  to  business,  or  treason  to  the 
"service."  But  bribery  is  a  recognized,  not  exactly 
authorized,  but  recognized  method  of  transacting  polit- 
ical business.  Neither  party  claims  to  be  free  from  it. 
The  general  facts  in  regard  to  political  bribery  are  part 
of  the  public  knowledge,  though  it  may  be  difficult  to 
individualize  them.  Aside  from  the  dullness  of  the  party 
conscience  at  this  point,  the  most  disheartening  feature 
of  this  whole  business  has  been  the  failure  to  put  the 
emphasis  upon  the  wrong  in  the  fit  place.  We  have 
held  in  public  contempt  the  men  who  take  bribes, 
instead  of  holding  under  public  condemnation  the  men 
who  give  bribes.  Not  until  the  exposure  in  Missouri 
were  we  ready  to  view  this  matter  in  right  proportion. 
Of  course  there  is  a  vast  difference  in  degree  between 
the  selhng  of  one's  vote  and  the  sale  of  one's  official 
power  or  influence  as  a  legislator  or  judge,  still  it  is  the 
men  or  the  corporations  who  are  taking  the  initiative  in 
this  kind  of  corruption  with  whom  we  are  chiefly  con- 
cerned. We  cannot  expend  our  wrath  or  our  contempt 
upon  their  victims  and  allow  them  to  maintain  their 
respectability.  Certainly  as  regards  the  purchase  of 
votes  it  is  the  purchaser  who  is  the  greater  sinner  in  the 
light  of  the  sacredness  of  citizenship.  It  is  he  who  con- 
ceives the  mischief,  and  works  the  temptation,  and  se- 
cures the  result.  Upon  him  should  fall  the  heavier  con- 
demnation. We  are  just  awakening  to  the  enormity  of 
the  offense  of  bribery  on  its  active  as  well  as  on  its  recep- 
tive side.  Last  evening  I  listened  to  a  statement,  at  a 
hearing  in  the  New  Hampshire  House  of  Representa- 
tives, by  Judge  Lindsey  of  Denver,  in  regard  to  the  new 


12  PUBLIC  MIXDEDNESS 

court  established  by  the  state  of  Colorado  for  juvenile 
offenders.  It  is  the  business  of  this  court  to  locate  the 
real  offender.  If  a  father  sends  liis  boy  to  a  saloon  with 
the  result  that  he  falls  into  disorderly  conduct,  or  if 
he  sends  his  boy  to  take  coal  from  a  railroad  with  the 
result  that  he  becomes  a  petty  thief,  it  is  the  father  with 
whom  the  court  deals  at  first  hand,  the  boy  with  whom 
it  deals  at  second  hand.  Let  us  learn  to  discriminate  in 
like  manner  in  respect  to  bribery  in  the  purchase  of 
votes  among  the  more  ignorant  voters,  so  that  penalty 
shall  fall  where  it  belongs,  at  a  second  remove  upon 
ignorance,  at  first  hand  upon  intelligence. 

Citizensliip,  we  shall  further  agree,  requires  the 
subordination  of  private  interests  to  the  public  good.  I 
would  not  afikm,  I  do  not  believe,  that  men  are  more 
selfish  or  less  patriotic  than  formerly,  but  it  is  entirely 
clear  that  there  are  greater  opportunities  for,  and 
greater  incentives  to,  self-aggrandizement  at  the  public 
cost  than  formerly.  Organization  has  become  a  power- 
ful influence  in  stimulating  private  interests.  It  retires 
personal  responsibility,  it  awakens  in  its  place  ambition 
and  pride  in  large  adventure,  it  develops  great  rival- 
ries, it  creates  powers  which  must  be  recognized,  and 
which  may  demand  to  be  fostered  by  the  state.  Uncon- 
sciously, it  may  be,  the  private  citizen  finds  himself  car- 
ried on  step  by  step,  by  the  way  of  organized  power,  to 
a  position  where  he  seeks  to  utilize  the  government  or 
where  he  is  forced  to  antagonize  it.  The  process  is 
evident,  and  we  are  becoming  familiar  with  the  result. 
Hence  the  growing  fear  in  the  public  mind  of  organized 
l^ower  as  such,  a  fear  which  is  beginning  to  include 
organized  labor  as  well  as  organized  capital.  It 
requires  no  prophetic  vision  to  foresee  the  nature  of  the 


SACREDNESS  OF  CITIZENSHIP        13 

next  political  struggle,  if  there  is  to  be  a  struggle 
rather  than  a  campaign — that  it  must  be  between  the 
organized  and  the  unorganized  power  of  the  country; 
in  which  event  organized  capital  and  organized  labor 
will  be  found  of  necessity  upon  the  same  side.  Who 
can  doubt,  in  the  present  circumstance,  the  duty  of  all 
enlightened  and  patriotic  citizenship  of  trying  to  avert 
the  possibility  of  such  a  struggle.  Now,  if  ever,  is 
the  time  to  consider,  and  to  consider  diligently,  the 
public  good,  and  if  for  no  other  reason,  that  lasting 
security  may  be  given  to  all  private  interests  which  are 
compatible  with  the  public  good. 

And  yet  again  I  am  sure  that  you  will  agree  with  me 
as  I  say  that  citizenship  cannot  exist  without  sentiment. 
The  state  is  not  a  corporation.  It  has  a  soul.  It  has 
its  essential  greatness  in  its  humanity.  Let  me  recall  a 
recent  word  which  some  of  you  will  recognize  as  from 
the  pen  of  Justice  Holmes.  "It  seems  to  me  that  the 
social  difficulties  of  our  time  are  even  more  sentimental 
than  economic,  and  that  those  who  let  their  democratic 
feeling  grow  cold,  be  they  rich  or  poor,  do  more  than 
any  other  to  shake  the  present  order  of  things."  The 
present  order  of  things,  as  we  know  it,  is  the  order  of  a 
democracy.  Citizenship  amongst  us  must  conform  to 
the  political  aims  which  we  profess  and  to  the  political 
ideals  which  we  cherish.  The  "democratic  feeling" 
must  not  be  allowed  "to  grow  cold."  It  is  the  ruling 
passion  of  a  people  which  fixes  its  destiny.  That 
ancient  and  formative  passion  for  liberty,  that  respect 
for  man  as  man,  that  sense  of  justice  which  was  not  sat- 
isfied till  it  had  set  the  bondman  free,  that  hospitality 
which  has  held  the  doors  of  the  nation  open  to  all  who 
aspire  after  freedom,  that  tolerance  which  has  kept  the 


14  PUBLIC  MINDEDXESS 

realm  of  opinion  as  free  as  the  realm  of  action,  that 
almost  impracticable  sentiment  which  has  been  strug- 
gling and  is  struggling  still  to  realize  the  equality  of 
opportunity,  all  these  are  our  inheritances  of  the  spirit, 
the  endowment  of  our  citizenship.  These  are  the  things 
for  which  we  stand.  Realized  politically,  they  make  a 
democracy.  Realized  spiritually,  they  make  a  brother- 
hood. Let  us  realize  them  through  citizenship.  Let  us 
keep  the  path  for  the  democracy  of  toil  and  struggle 
open  to  the  last  material  rewards  to  which  it  is  entitled. 
Let  us  keep  the  path  for  the  democracy  of  the  mind 
open  through  every  grade  of  education  to  the  last  train- 
ing of  the  university.  Let  us  keep  the  path  for  the 
democracy  of  the  soul  open  to  every  spiritual  privilege, 
even  if  in  so  doing  we  must  needs  reconstruct  our 
churches.  Nothing  less  than  these  things  can  satisfy 
the  deep  and  abiding  sentiment  of  citizenship. 

Judged  by  the  tests  which  I  have  recalled  we  cannot 
say  that  citizenship  as  it  exists  within  our  knowledge  is 
clothed  with  those  sanctities  which  alone  can  give  it 
saving  and  redeeming  power.  And  yet  I  firmly  believe 
that  there  has  begun  a  revival  of  the  political  conscience 
of  the  nation  which  is  to  make  its  moral  power  com- 
mensurate with  its  intelligence.  We  are  certainly  grow- 
ing more  sensitive  to  political  wrong  doing,  in  the 
nation,  in  the  state,  even  in  the  city.  We  are  grow- 
ing steadier  and  more  determined  in  movements  for 
reform.  We  are  not  afraid  to  invoke  the  law  of  the 
land  for  all  legitimate  ends  which  are  revealed  by  public 
necessities.  We  are  growing  less  narrow,  less  captious, 
less  partisan  in  our  criticism  of  public  men,  and  more 
discriminating  and  more  demonstrative  in  our  support 
of  those  whom  we  believe  deserve  well  of  the  Republic. 


SACREDNESS  OF  CITIZENSHIP        15 

Within  the  last  decade  we  have  had  two  men  of  com- 
manding personahty  in  the  presidential  chair,  men  who 
embodied  in  honorable  degree  our  national  ideals,  men 
whose  faults  are  not  the  faults  of  weakness,  neither  one 
of  them  blind  to  corruption,  nor  insensitive  to  social  or 
economic  wrongs,  nor  mentally  inhospitable  to  the 
things  of  the  spirit — Mr.  Cleveland,  and  Mr.  Roosevelt. 
But  within  the  decade  the  nation  has  grown  more 
appreciative  of  what  I  may  call  political  personality, 
and  supports  Mr.  Roosevelt  as  it  did  not  support  Mr. 
Cleveland  in  his  time  of  official  service.  Other  reasons, 
partly  political,  and  partly  personal,  may  explain  to 
some  degree  the  difference,  but  enough  remains  to 
prove  the  fact  of  the  growing  appreciation  of  high- 
minded  and  resolute  public  service.  Approval  of  the 
right,  and  of  right  men,  is  just  as  much  a  sign  of  moral 
advance  as  criticism  of  the  wrong,  and  of  wrong  men. 

And  we  are  also  coming  to  believe  as  a  nation  that 
greatness  is  not  incompatible  with  righteousness,  but 
rather  that  if  greatness  be  ordered  of  God,  righteous- 
ness must  come  forth  out  of  it  in  the  divine  sequence. 
If  God  be  in  His  world  at  the  present  time  this  must 
be  so,  for  all  things  which  belong  to  the  nations  are 
taking  on  the  dimensions  of  greatness.  The  spirit  of 
nationality,  of  which  I  spoke  at  the  outset,  and  of  which 
we  are  beginning  to  be  fully  conscious,  is  I  believe 
related  to  the  spirit  of  God.  In  His  name  it  is  sum- 
moning nation  after  nation  to  show  itself  at  its  best. 
There  is  a  call  of  God  to  nations  as  to  men,  to  be  great. 
It  is  not  wise  for  a  nation  any  more  than  it  is  for  a  man, 
when  the  call  comes,  "to  hide  amongst  the  stuff."  May 
God  in  His  infinite  grace  deliver  this  nation  from  the 
weakness  and  the  cowardice  of  mere  material  prosperity 
into  "that  liberty  wherewith  He  makes  His  people  free." 


Ill 

SOCIAL    RIGHTEOUSNESS 

Address  before  the  Faculty  and  Students,  Union  Theological  Sem- 
inary, New  York,  January  18,  1897 

If  we  can  determine  what  that  righteousness  is,  of 
which  we  are  confessedly  so  much  in  need,  which  we  are 
beginning  to  call  social  righteousness,  some  advance  will 
have  been  made  toward  the  solution  of  our  present 
social  problem.  Not  that  definition  will  solve  it.  I 
shall  want  to  say  before  I  close  that  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty in  the  way  of  establishing  social  righteousness  lies 
in  the  extraordinary  demand  which  it  makes  upon  the 
interest  of  man  in  man,  an  interest  as  sensitive  and 
absorbing  as  that  which  we  take  in  our  theories,  or  in 
our  occupations,  or  in  our  institutions,  or  in  any  matters 
of  personal  and  public  concern.  But  to  begin  with,  we 
need  definition.  We  certainly  need  to  know  why  there 
is  such  a  demand  for  what  seems  to  be  another  kind  or 
department  of  righteousness  in  the  process  of  moral 
sj^ecialization  which  is  now  going  on. 

We  began  to  specialize  because  it  was  found  that 
general  righteousness,  the  goodness  which  is  expressed 
in  ordinary  personal  character,  was  not  a  sufficiently 
positive  and  well-defined  force  to  meet  the  conditions 
of  modern  society.  Put  a  good  man  into  a  bad  environ- 
ment, put  him  into  a  corrupt  political  body,  or  into  a 
heartless  corporation,  or  into  frivolous  society,  the 
prol)abilities  are  that  he  will  remain  a  good  man,  but 
he  will  not  change  his  environment,  unless  he  makes  that 


SOCIAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS  IT 

object  his  particular  business.    As  Edmund  Burke  used 
to  say,  he  will  not  make  "goodness  prevalent." 

It  became  necessary  therefore  to  specialize,  that  is 
to  organize  righteousness  to  specific  ends.  What  are 
these  ends?  They  have  been  and  still  are  in  all  cases 
representative  of  institutions,  or  of  what  had  become 
institutionalized.  They  are  at  a  second  remove  from 
life.  The  first  great  specialization  in  righteousness  in 
this  country  was  directed  to  the  overthrow  of  slavery. 
But  slavery  had  become  incorporated  into  the  national 
life.  It  had  become  institutionalized.  We  called  it 
"the  institution  of  slavery,"  and  it  was  against  slavery 
as  such  that  the  moral  power  of  the  nation  was  being 
organized,  when  Mrs.  Stowe  brought  the  question  back 
to  its  simplest  human  aspects,  and  made  the  humanity 
of  "Uncle  Tom"  as  real  as  the  arguments  of  Calhoun. 
Something  of  the  same  process  is  now  going  on  in  the 
movement  against  intemperance.  We  are  face  to  face 
with  the  commercial  and  political  aspects  of  this  social 
evil.  The  liquor  traffic  has  in  time  become  institution- 
alized. Society  is  not  thinking  so  much  today  about 
the  drunkard  and  his  family  as  about  the  saloon  keeper 
and  his  political  associates.  We  are  specializing  in  like 
manner  for  the  protection  of  institutions — the  family, 
the  trades  and  professions,  the  municipality,  the  state 
at  large,  and  even  the  church.  Society  has  been  train- 
ing reformers,  organizing  crusades,  and  in  various  ways 
concentrating  public  opinion  at  the  exposed  points  in 
our  modern  civilization.  Sympathy  of  interest  is  called 
for  in  all  these  various  movements,  but  division  of  labor 
is  equally  called  for.  Nobody  is  expected  to  attend  to 
more  than  one  kind  of  righteousness.  The  old  time 
philanthropist  is  simply  the  man  upon  whom  everybody 


18  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

calls  to  pay  the  bills.  So  far  as  actual  work  is  con- 
cerned, the  conditions  are  so  exacting  that  one  is  justi- 
fied in  the  imijatience  of  Lyman  Beecher,  when  on  his 
return  from  Cincinnati  to  Boston  he  was  besought  to 
identify  himself  more  actively  with  the  anti-slavery 
cause — "I  have  got  too  many  irons  in  the  fire  already," 
was  his  lament.  What  the  grand  old  man  felt  he  could 
not  undertake,  he  left  as  the  moral  birthright  of  his 
children. 

Now  the  present  demand  for  social  righteousness 
seems  to  be,  as  I  have  indicated,  the  demand  for  one 
more  kind  of  righteousness,  to  meet  a  new  and  pressing 
difficulty.  I  do  not,  however,  so  interpret  the  situation. 
I  prefer  to  consider  and  to  treat  social  righteousness  as 
the  complement  of  personal  righteousness,  at  least  of 
the  personal  righteousness  of  today,  for  three  reasons. 
First,  I  would  not  divide  and  subdivide  righteousness, 
even  for  practical  ends,  further  than  may  be  absolutely 
necessary.  Specialization  in  morals  always  reaches  a 
point,  where  it  raises  the  question  whether  there  should 
not  be  a  return  to  what  is  fundamental.  Such  is  the 
history  of  creeds.  One  doctrine  after  another  is  for- 
mulated to  meet  the  succession  of  errors.  Gradually 
the  creed  loses  in  tone  and  spirit  what  it  gains  in  defi- 
niteness.  It  becomes  contentious  and  belligerent.  The 
church  at  last  becomes  aware  of  this  fact  and,  with  or 
without  modifying  its  articles,  goes  back  into  the  mind 
and  heart  of  Christianity,  to  get  a  new  disposition  and 
outlook  toward  truth  and  life.  We  have  now  reached 
the  point,  I  believe,  in  the  development  of  our  moral 
specialties,  where  we  need  to  assure  ourselves  that  our 
righteousness  of  every  sort  is  so  far  right-minded  and 
right-hearted  as  to  be  easily  effective.     We  may  find, 


SOCIAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS  19 

as  we  proceed,  that  some  kinds  of  righteousness  are 
ineffective,  because  we  have  not  put  the  human  element 
into  them  in  right  proportions. 

Second,  social  righteousness  is  not  a  specific  and  con- 
crete end  like  commercial  or  civic  righteousness.  Soci- 
ety cannot  be  viewed  as  a  distinct  thing,  as  we  can  view 
the  state  or  an  industry.  What  most  persons  have  in 
mind,  doubtless,  when  they  ask  for  social  righteousness 
is  the  right  feeling  between  people  of  different  positions 
or  occupations.  The  demand  grows  in  large  measure 
out  of  the  disturbed  relations  between  capital  and  labor, 
and  is  really  the  call,  when  translated  into  its  lowest 
terms,  for  economic  righteousness. 

The  third  and  chief  reason  is  that  the  personal  right- 
eousness of  our  time  needs  the  complement  of  social 
rightousness.  Of  course  it  is  possible  to  so  define  per- 
sonal righteousness  as  to  make  it  inclusive.  If  you 
could  only  have  the  perfect  man,  you  would  have  the 
perfect  society,  and  the  perfect  state,  and  the  perfect 
church.  I  have  referred  to  the  personal  righteousness 
of  our  time.  That,  I  say,  needs  the  complement  of 
social  righteousness.  A  righteous  man  may  need,  he 
does  need  at  the  present  time,  a  certain  character  or 
quality  of  righteousness.  You  do  not  necessarily  get 
that  by  extending  the  righteousness  which  he  already 
has  into  his  business  or  into  his  citizenship.  There  are 
different  ways  of  being  righteous,  genuinely  righteous, 
in  these  external  relations.  Society  just  now  lays  the 
stress  upon  a  given  way.  And  if  you  can  get  a  personal 
righteousness  which  in  all  its  relations,  and  at  all  times, 
will  work  that  way,  you  have  gained  the  end  of  social 
righteousness. 

Social  righteousness  then  I  would  define,  not  as  a 


20  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

specific  kind  of  righteousness  directed  to  a  concrete  end, 
like  the  purifying  of  government,  but  as  representing  a 
quahty  and  method  of  righteousness  made  necessary  by 
the  conditions  of  modern  society.  I  speak  of  it  as  the 
complement  of  personal  righteousness  because  personal 
righteousneses,  as  we  know  it,  is  so  manifestly  insuffi- 
cient and  incomplete  at  the  very  point  where  the  social 
distress  or  danger  is  most  acute.  This  conception  of 
social  righteousness  may  seem  to  you  to  be  to  a  degree 
negative.  I  am  entirely  content,  if  I  have  succeeded  in 
what  I  have  thus  far  said,  in  giving  my  subject  a  nega- 
tive definition,  in  taking  it  out  of  the  category  of  spe- 
cialized duties,  where  it  must  come  into  competition 
with  all  manner  of  righteousnesses.  Let  me  now 
advance  into  the  positive  apphcation  of  this  idea  or 
definition. 

Social  righteousness  makes  its  first  and  most  insist- 
ent demand  for  a  habit  of  mind  for  which  we  have  no 
training  in  the  school  of  individualism.  Theodore 
Parker  used  to  say  of  democracy — "Democracy  does 
not  mean  I  am  as  good  as  you  are,  but  you  are  as  good 
as  I  am."  Consider  the  change  necessary  to  the  mind  of 
a  man  accustomed  to  think  of  democracy  in  the  terms 
of  the  first  saying  before  he  can  think  of  it  in  the  terms 
of  the  second.  Suppose  the  occasion  for  the  assertion  of 
his  politcal  rights  or  sense  of  equality  in  the  face 
of  another  man  was  over,  he  would  still  keep  on  think- 
ing of  democracy  as  the  satisfaction  of  personal  rights, 
or  the  assertion  of  personal  equality.  He  might  be  led 
to  acknowledge  another's  rights,  but  not  so  easily  his 
equality.  He  might  fairly  say  of  many  a  man,  he  is  not 
so  good  as  I  am :  not  understanding  that  while  it  is  not 
the  business  of  democracy  to  proclaim  as  a  fact  that 


SOCIAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS  21 

which  is  not  a  truth,  namely  the  moral  equality  of  men, 
it  is  the  duty  of  democracy  to  endeavor  to  establish  the 
fact,  that  is,  to  make  one  man  as  good  as  another. 
Democracy  may  have  come  into  being  through  the  habit 
of  mind,  which  expressed  itself  in  the  first  saying,  but 
the  continuance  of  democracy  depends,  as  any  one  can 
now  see,  upon  the  habit  of  mind  which  expresses  itself 
in  the  spirit  of  the  second  saying. 

The  habit  of  mind  of  which  most  men  are  at  present 
possessed  is  the  product  of  individualism.  I  am  not 
about  to  speak  of  individualism  as  the  moral  opposite 
of  altruism,  or  as  in  any  direct  way  the  synonym  of 
selfishness.  I  am  not  so  ignorant  of  its  history.  It  has 
been  thus  far  the  most  potent  force  in  modern  civiliza- 
tion. It  has  given  us  religious,  political,  and  philosoph- 
ical freedom.  It  has  accelerated  the  rate  of  material 
progress.  It  has  created  those  great  units  of  personal 
power  which  have  changed  the  level  of  society.  But  we 
are  now  getting  the  secondary  effects  of  individualism 
which,  as  in  the  case  of  any  great  force,  are  often  not 
only  so  much  less,  but  so  different  from  the  first  effects. 
Individualism  acting  as  a  motive  power  toward  personal 
freedom,  or  personal  responsibilities,  shows  a  first  effect, 
than  which  nothing  can  be  more  inspiring.  Individ- 
ualism serving  as  a  barrier  to  unity,  or  as  deadening  the 
sense  of  social  and  corporate  responsibility,  is  a  sec- 
ondary effect,  than  which  nothing  can  be  more 
deplorable. 

Let  me  give  you  two  illustrations  of  this  secondary 
effect  of  individualism  as  we  can  now  see  them.  I  will 
take  first  the  effect  as  seen  in  the  expression  of  religious 
feehng.  We  have  driven  out  most  of  those  expressions 
of  personal  experience  which  were  at  first  the  genuine 


22  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

result  of  a  deep  sense  of  sin^  but  which  had  become  the 
cant  of  a  self-seeking  salvation.  It  is  very  seldom  that 
we  now  hear  them.  But  the  same  individualistic  habit 
of  mind  finds  expression  in  another  form,  comparatively 
harmless,  but  showing  that  it  is  still  the  ruling  habit.  I 
refer  to  the  common  expression  of  gratitude  or  thanks- 
giving by  way  of  comparison  or  contrast  of  our  condi- 
tion with  that  of  others.  This  is  the  ordinary  way  of 
realizing  our  mercies.  We  do  not  seem  to  be  able  to 
make  them  real  in  any  other  way.  From  thousands  of 
family  altars  the  prayer  of  thankfulness  is  for  mercies 
which  we  have,  of  which  others  have  been  deprived,  or 
for  exemption  from  suffering  which  others  are  experi- 
encing. The  ritual  of  extempore  prayer  in  an  ordinary 
social  assembly  is  to  the  same  effect:  we  thank  God 
that  while  other  communities  have  been  visited  with 
pestilence  or  famine,  or,  as  it  is  now  more  frequently 
some  kind  of  financial  disaster,  we  have  been  mercifully 
spared.  This  is  not  j)harisaism.  It  is  not  a  rude  selfish- 
ness. If  it  were,  we  should  attack  it  and  drive  it  out. 
We  leave  it  alone  because  it  is  simply  the  harmless 
vestige  of  a  habit  of  mind  which  instinctively  works  that 
way.  I  refer  to  it  now  because  it  shows  just  as  conclu- 
sively as  a  more  harmful  expression  would  show,  that 
the  habit  of  mind  is  there. 

Take  a  more  serious  illustration.  It  is  our  constant 
complaint  that  corporate  action  is  not  as  responsible  as 
individual  action.  We  say  that  the  same  man  cannot 
be  depended  upon  to  act  with  others  as  he  will  act  alone. 
Perhaps  we  ought  not  to  expect  that  he  will.  Neverthe- 
less the  fact  remains  that  corporate  responsibility  must 
bear  some  proportion  to  the  tremendous  advance  in  the 
absorption  of  individual  activity  into  corporate  activity. 


SOCIAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS  2a 

You  are  losing  the  individual:  how  are  you  going  to 
follow  him  with  individualism?  Individual  responsi- 
bility is  becoming  capitalized :  how  are  you  going  to  get 
at  the  moral  value  of  the  new  capital?  We  must  have 
measurements  which  are  fitted  to  this  object,  and  apply 
them.  Or  carry  the  thought  over  into  our  social  and 
civic  obligations.  In  the  old  days  of  Boston,  in  the  time 
of  its  transition  from  a  great  village  into  a  city,  the 
citizens  organized  themselves  into  a  Watch  and  Ward 
Society.  They  took  turns  in  patrolling  the  streets.  Of 
course  this  could  not  last.  A  city  means  delegated 
authority;  first  the  creation  of  departments  to  do  cer- 
tain things,  and  then  perhaps  the  organization  of  socie- 
ties to  see  that  they  do  them.  This  is  the  process  by 
which  we  divest  ourselves  of  individual  responsibility — 
not  by  denying  it  in  the  first  instance,  but  by  putting 
the  exercise  of  it  at  a  farther  and  farther  remove  from 
us,  till  at  last  with  this  removal  of  responsibility  there 
comes  in  the  gradual  loss  of  sentiment,  of  feeling,  and 
even  of  shame.  I  suppose  that  it  would  be  as  hard  for 
the  average  citizen  to  repent  of  his  share  of  the  sin  of 
New  York,  as  for  a  man  trained  in  the  New  England 
school  of  theology  to  repent  of  the  sin  of  Adam.  He 
does  not  know  how  to  do  it.  He  doesn't  see  things  in 
that  light.  His  mind  is  not  capable  of  working  that  way. 
Now,  social  righteousness,  speaking  in  the  person  of 
its  advocates,  calls  for  a  habit  of  mind  which  will  corre- 
spond to  present  facts  and  conditions.  To  the  extent  to 
which  the  individual  has  been  merged  into  something 
else,  in  fact,  it  demands  that  something  else,  in  theory^ 
shall  take  the  place  of  individualism.  Every  great 
moral  movement  which  has  been  successful  has  created 
for  itself  an  appropriate  habit  of  mind.    The  Reforma- 


24  PUBLIC  MIXDEDNESS 

tion  began  that  way.  It  was  another  habit  of  mind, 
another  sense  of  the  individual  self,  another  vision  of 
God.  It  is  useless  to  confront  new  and  obstinate  con- 
ditions with  old  habits  of  thinking,  or  with  unused  sensi- 
bilities. The  demand  of  social  righteousness  at  this 
point  is  a  reasonable  demand.  It  can  make  no  great 
headway  until  the  demand  is  complied  with.  When 
once  this  demand  has  been  met,  when  once  the  habit  of 
mind  has  been  created  which  will  express  itself  steadily 
and  urgently,  through  sensitiveness  to  others,  through 
responsibility  for  things  held  in  conmion,  through  what 
we  may  call,  in  spite  of  its  philosophical  vagueness,  the 
social  conscience,  the  work  of  social  righteousness  will 
be  well  under  way,  if  not  well  accomplished;  and  then 
there  may  be  a  return  to  individualism  or  an  advance 
into  a  new  view  of  life  and  duty.  Just  as  individualism 
did  its  work  suddenly  and  effectively  when  it  had  made 
its  own  type  of  mind,  so  may  we  expect  Hke  results  of 
social  righteousness  when  it  can  work  through  a  like 
instrumentality. 

More  positive  perhaps  than  this  demand  on  the  part 
of  social  righteousness  for  an  appropriate  habit  of  mind, 
because  more  appreciable,  is  the  protest  which  it  enters 
against  all  social  or  business  theories  wliich  ignore  or 
undervalue  the  human  element  in  affairs.  Humanity 
has  suffered  more  from  the  tyranny  of  theories  which 
were  believed  to  be  right,  or,  if  wrong,  inexorable,  than 
from  any  other  one  source.  The  history  of  economic 
progress,  as  of  political  progress,  has  been  the  history  of 
deliverance  from  the  fetich  of  so-called  laws,  laws  of 
supply  and  demand,  and  the  like.  Every  reformer  has 
had  to  meet  at  once  the  outcry,  "you  are  attempting  the 
impossible,  you  are  going  against  the  law  of  nature. 


SOCIAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS  25 

or  of  business,  or  of  society."  The  outcry  is  not  always 
in  the  interest  of  selfishness.  The  worst  aspect  of  it  is 
that  the  men  who  raise  the  outcry  believe  what  they  say. 
To  the  disciples  of  the  early  economists  many  of  the 
now  accepted  methods  of  production  and  distribution 
seemed  absolutely  impossible.  The  then  current  laws 
of  supply  and  demand  were  to  their  mind  as  inexorable 
as  the  law  of  gravitation.  To  many  minds,  when  they 
have  given  any  working  theory  the  name  of  law,  they 
have  given  it  the  prerogatives  of  the  law  of  gravitation. 
And  to  such  minds  one  essential  part  of  the  idea  of 
law  is  that  it  shall  take  no  note  of  the  human  element. 
To  do  so  is  unscientific.  It  introduces  sentiment,  or  at 
least  some  variable  quantity,  which  prevents  all  accu- 
racy of  calculation  or  of  working.  Nature,  they  say, 
takes  no  account  of  human  suffering,  why  should  trade, 
or  rather,  how  can  trade  any  more  than  nature?  And 
so  under  the  helplessness  of  this  kind  of  logic,  we  not 
infrequently  get  the  same  results  from  the  working  of 
the  laws  of  trade  as  from  the  working  of  the  laws  of 
nature. 

Some  years  ago  I  read  in  the  London  Spectator  the 
report  of  the  discovery  in  South  Africa  of  a  hill  called 
the  "Hill  of  the  Footsteps,"  on  the  slope  of  which,  on  a 
wide  uncovered  rock,  there  had  been  imprinted  a  crowd 
of  footsteps,  some  human,  some  of  wild  animals,  but 
all  turned  toward  the  top  of  the  hill,  toward  which  in 
some  past  century  all  had  been  fleeing  in  dire  confusion, 
the  soft  rock  taking  the  imprint  of  their  flight.  The 
reading  of  the  report  anticipated  the  comment — "it  was 
as  if  one  could  hear  an  isolated  scream  of  agony  com- 
ing up  from  the  depths  of  centuries  ago,  without  hear- 
ing anything  of  the  tragic  cause  or  of  the  tragic  issue." 


26  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

Unhappily  these  tragedies  of  nature  have  been  paral- 
leled by  the  tragedies  enacted  under  the  laws  of  trade 
and  industry,  by  the  tragedies  of  the  mine  and  of  the 
factory.  Men,  women,  and  little  children  were  sacri- 
ficed by  thousands  under  the  early  factory  systems  to 
the  theory  of  laissez  faire.  Under  cover  of  this  theory 
interference  with  the  inhumanity  of  the  system  was 
fought  at  every  step.  The  first  legislation  which  gave 
the  slightest  relief  to  the  health,  morals,  or  life  of  opera- 
tives took  effect  only  at  the  beginning  of  the  century, 
and  under  bitter  opposition, — legislation  which  the 
Duke  of  Argyle  has  not  hesitated  to  say,  "was  the  great- 
est invention  in  the  science  of  government  in  modern 
times."  My  reference  to  this  state  of  things  at  the  be- 
ginnings of  industrialism,  is  not  to  expose  the  cruelty  of 
the  earlv  masters  of  industry,  but  rather  to  show  the  in- 
humanity  of  the  theories  to  which  they  were  in  bondage. 
Starting  with  the  theory  that  labor  was  a  commodity, 
and  therefore  subject  to  the  ordinary  law  of  commodi- 
ties, the  laboring  man  or  woman  or  child  became  the  nat- 
ural victim  of  the  principle.  The  masters  took  this 
theory  from  the  economists,  who  could  see  no  place  for 
the  human  element  in  their  conception  of  labor.  And 
it  can  hardly  be  said  that  the  human,  in  distinction  from 
the  mechanical,  view  found  a  place  in  economics  till  the 
day  of  John  Stuart  Mill. 

The  narrowness  of  the  position  of  the  early  econ- 
omists has  been  clearly  put  in  the  calm  words  of  Pro- 
fessor Marshall  in  his  "Principles  of  Economics." 

"It  caused  them  to  regard  labor  simply  as  a  commod- 
ity without  throwing  themselves  into  the  point  of  view 
of  the  workman :  without  allowing  for  his  human  pas- 
sions, his  instincts  and  habits,  his  sympathies,  his  class 


SOCIAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS  27 

jealousies  and  class  adhesiveness,  his  want  of  knowl- 
edge and  of  the  opportunities  for  free  and  vigorous 
action.  They  therefore  attributed  to  the  forces  of  sup- 
ply and  demand  a  much  more  mechanical  and  regular 
action  than  they  actually  have:  and  laid  down  laws 
with  regard  to  profit  and  wages  that  did  not  really  hold, 
even  for  England,  in  their  own  time.  But  their  most 
vital  fault  was  that  they  did  not  see  how  liable  to  change 
are  the  habits  and  institutions  of  industry.  In  partic- 
ular, they  did  not  see  that  the  poverty  of  the  poor  is  the 
chief  cause  of  that  weakness  and  inefficiency  which  are 
the  chief  causes  of  their  poverty :  they  had  not  the  faith 
that  modern  economists  have  in  the  possibility  of  a  vast 
improvement  in  the  conditions  of  the  working  classes." 

We  may  say  that  we  have  passed  out  of  the  reach 
of  these  earlier  theories.  This  is  only  measurably  true. 
Every  proprietor  of  every  sweating  den  justifies  him- 
self by  some  such  theory;  every  reform  still  looking  to 
the  advance  of  unskilled  labor  is  met  by  a  like  theory: 
and  the  general  indifference  to  the  condition  of  the  poor 
is  excused  by  the  easy  reference  of  their  poverty  to  their 
habits.  (Society  at  large  refuses  as  yet  to  see,  as 
Marshall  has  said,  "that  the  poverty  of  the  poor  is  the 
chief  cause  of  that  weakness  and  inefficiency  which  are 
the  chief  causes  of  their  poverty.")  We  turn  off  our 
responsibility  for  poverty  upon  the  intemperance  of  the 
poor,  if  not  with  the  contempt,  with  the  easy  indiffer- 
ence with  which  a  recent  Secretary  of  Ireland  dismissed 
the  land  tax  agitation  in  that  country — "You  have  the 
remedy  in  your  own  hands:  drink  less  whiskey." 

Social  righteousness  has  something  to  say  about  the 
indifference  which  is  begotten  of  wrong  theories,  just  as 
it  has  something  to  say  about  the  insensibility  to  the 


28  PUBLIC  MIXDEDNESS 

kind  and  amount  of  unnecessary  burdens  put  upon 
those  who  seem  to  be  content  to  bear  them.  Social 
righteousness  protests  against  the  tolerance  of  abuses 
before  they  reach  the  stage  of  the  outspoken  grievance. 
It  calls  upon  society  to  interpret  the  grievance  and  meet 
it  before  it  is  declared.  A  traveler  in  the  north  of  Eng- 
land found,  on  the  morning  after  his  arrival  at  an  inn,  a 
kind  of  stage  or  omnibus  standing  at  the  door,  adver- 
tised to  run  some  miles  into  the  country.  What  arrested 
his  attention  was  a  placard  giving  different  rates  of  pas- 
sage— first  class  fare  a  shilling,  second  class  ninepence, 
tliird  class  sixpence,  but  with  no  apparent  difference  in 
accommodation.  Out  of  curiosity  he  stepped  in,  paid 
the  highest  fare,  and  awaited  the  result.  Ever}i;hing 
went  on  as  at  the  start  till  they  came  to  a  long  stretch  of 
rocky,  muddy  road,  when  the  driver  stopped  and  called 
out:  "First  class  fares  stay  in  their  seats,  second  class 
get  out  and  walk,  third  class  get  out  and  push." 

Without  stopping  to  verify  the  incident  I  hasten  to 
point  the  moral.  That  process,  I  venture  to  say,  will 
go  on  just  so  long  as  there  are  enough  third  class  fares 
willing  to  get  out  and  push  in  the  mud.  And  nothing 
that  anybody,  like  my  supposed  traveler,  can  say,  will 
avail  in  the  way  of  remedy,  till  sometime  there  comes 
up  out  of  the  mud  the  cry  which  cannot  be  put  down, 
"Mend  your  roads."  Why  does  not  society  mend  its 
roads  of  its  own  motion?  That  it  does  not  do  so  is  a 
part  of  the  concern  of  social  righteousness. 

And  another  part  of  its  concern  is  with  those  changes 
which  are  constantly  taking  place  in  the  customs  and 
laws  which  were  designed  to  protect  the  individual  man. 
Advantage  may  be  taken  of  legislation  which  was  made 
to  secure  a  given  result  in  the  interest  of  personal  free- 


SOCIAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS  29 

dom  or  security,  to  bring  about  an  opposite  result.  We 
are  just  now  in  the  midst  of  countless  difficulties  grow- 
ing out  of  the  fact  that  laws  which  were  passed  to 
protect  the  rights  of  personal  property  are  being  used 
to  extend  the  power  of  corporations.  Much  of  the  law, 
under  which  the  great  questions  arising  out  of  indus- 
trialism must  be  tried,  was  made  before  the  rise  of 
industrialism.  The  legislation  of  that  time  was  estab- 
lished to  meet  entirely  different  conditions.  And  un- 
less an  interpretation  can  be  given  to  that  early  legis- 
lation which  will  preserve  its  original  intent,  we  shall  be 
subjected,  under  the  name  of  law,  to  the  betrayal  of 
certain  individual  rights,  or  to  the  extension  of  corpo- 
rate privileges  which  could  not  be  secured  under  pres- 
ent legislation.  Corporations  have  their  rights.  They 
have  become  incorporated  into  the  American  system. 
They  represent  in  a  large  degree  our  way  of  conduct- 
ing great  enterprises.  Socialism,  in  the  sense  of 
entrusting  the  municipalitj^  or  state  with  indefinite  busi- 
ness functions,  is  at  present  better  adapted  to  English 
political  conditions  than  to  American  political  condi- 
tions. The  tendency  with  us  to  increase  the  functions  of 
the  state  in  business  directions  keeps  pace  with  the 
growth  of  municipal  reform,  and  is  a  very  definite 
means  to  that  reform.  I  believe  that  we  have  much 
social  and  economic  good  in  store  for  us  through  the 
assumption  by  the  state  of  more  business  in  the  interest 
of  the  people  at  large,  but  I  doubt  if  the  corporation 
will  lose  its  place  as  the  chief  method  with  us  of  carry- 
ing out  great  enterprises,  or  of  conducting  great  pro- 
ductive operations.  All  the  more  reason  therefore  that 
we  see  to  it  that  no  powers  and  privileges  are  allowed  to 
be  taken  up  into  it  out  of  past  conditions  when  the 


30  PUBLIC  MIXDEDNESS 

same  powers  and  priv^ileges  would  not  now  be  conferred. 
And  I  believe  that  we  must  look  to  our  judges  to  main- 
tain at  this  point  the  original  intent  and  limitations  of 
the  earlier  laws.  A  great  judicial  decision  may  accom- 
plish as  much  for  freedom  or  progress  as  a  decisive 
battle. 

JNIore  positively  still,  social  righteousness  lays  a  new 
emphasis  today  upon  outward  conditions  as  affecting 
character.  I  am  well  aware  that  in  the  stress  which 
the  advocates  of  social  righteousness  lay  upon  condi- 
tions they  seem  to  some  people  to  run  counter  to  the 
methods  of  evangelistic  Christianity.  They  have  been 
charged  with  preaching  a  gospel  of  environment  rather 
than  of  conversion.  As  with  all  such  charges,  the 
ground  of  misunderstanding  lies  in  the  impatience  of 
men  for  quick  moral  returns  in  place  of  long  and  per- 
manent results.  It  lies  also  in  the  assumption  that  a 
traditional  method  is  sufficient  to  cover  new  conditions. 
What  is  always  wanted  is  the  unchanging  spirit  of 
Christianity  informing  one  method  or  many. 

There  are  three  ways  of  attacking  the  problem  of 
sin  in  the  personal  experience  of  men.  First,  that  of 
reaching  the  individual  man  in  his  sin,  man  after  man, 
delivering  him  from  evil  surroundings,  and  giving  him 
a  better  chance  under  a  new  environment:  that  is  the 
work  of  rescue.  Second,  that  of  attempting  to  so  invig- 
orate and  fortify  the  man  under  daily  temptation  that 
he  will  have  power  to  resist:  a  large  part  of  the  work 
of  the  pulpit  of  every  city.  Third,  that  of  striving  to 
arrest  the  forces  which  are  helping  men  to  sin,  if  not 
compelling  them  to  sin,  and  so  far  changing  the  con- 
ditions of  their  life  without  taking  them  out  of  it,  that 
it  shall  at  least  be  harder  for  them  to  do  evil,  and  easier 


SOCIAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS  31 

for  them  to  be  clean,  honest,  and  true.  There  is  no 
conflict  between  these  methods,  if  all  who  use  them  are 
equally  loyal  to  the  spirit  of  Christ.  They  are  all  neces- 
sary. It  is  foolish  beyond  conception  to  insist  upon 
one  method  as  against  another,  when  all  must  work 
steadily  and  persistently  to  make  any  appreciable  head- 
way. The  method  of  social  righteousness  finds  its  jus- 
tification in  the  plain  fact  that  multitudes  are  wrongly 
conditioned.  "What  should  strike  one," — I  quote  the 
words  of  Professor  Smart  of  Edinburgh,  former  manu- 
facturer and  an  employer  of  labor, — "what  should 
strike  one  is  the  enormous  disproportion  between  the 
people  to  whom  the  'good  life'  is  open  and  those  to 
whom  it  is  impossible."  Impossibility  is  the  word  of 
despair,  not  of  faith.  Still  it  expresses  what  looks  to 
many  minds  too  much  like  a  fact,  in  the  case  of  some 
people:  and  faith  can  only  say  in  such  cases — "All 
things  are  possible  with  God."  In  saying  this  I  do  not 
restrict  the  moral  or  spiritual  outlook  to  the  children  of 
poverty.  Their  case  is  no  more  serious,  it  may  be,  than 
that  of  the  children  of  luxury.  Christ  did  not  say  "how 
hardly  shall  they  that  are  poor  enter  into  the  kingdom 
of  heaven"  nor  "it  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  go  through  the 
eye  of  a  needle  than  for  a  poor  man  to  enter  into  the 
kingdom  of  heaven."  That  is  altogether  a  nineteenth 
century  variation. 

But  to  the  main  question,  namely,  the  actual  condi- 
tioning of  people  with  a  view  to  their  prospects  for  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  here  and  hereafter — let  us  look  at 
the  matter  in  the  experience  of  the  average  man,  and 
see  how  social  and  economic  changes  have  affected  the 
means  of  his  moral  and  spiritual  development.  Con- 
sider his  life  as  conditioned  by  his  place  in  the  city. 


32  PUBLIC  MIXDEDXESS 

Under  other  social  conditions  he  has  the  great  oppor- 
tunity of  what  Dr.  ]Munger  has  so  happily  termed  "sal- 
vation by  fellowship."  That  was  the  means  of  the  sal- 
vation of  vast  numbers  of  the  last  and  earlier  genera- 
tions in  this  country.  Conversion  was  not  an  isolated 
act.  A  man  was  converted  among  his  neighbors,  and 
with  his  neighbors,  and  largely  because  of  them.  A 
great  citj^  changes  all  this  for  the  average  man,  though 
not  altogether  for  those  of  exceptional  social  advan- 
tages. We  cannot  overestimate  the  part  which  the 
democratic  spirit  and  habit  has  had  in  the  development 
of  moral  and  religious  character. 

Or  consider  the  religious  prospect  of  the  average 
man  who  is  the  offspring  of  pure  secularism.  Here  you 
have  the  force  of  heredity  to  take  account  of  as  well  as 
that  of  environment.  A  famous  sermon  of  the  last 
generation  started  from  the  text — "His  father  was  an 
Amorite  and  his  mother  was  a  Hittite" — and  reached 
the  conclusion,  what  can  you  expect  of  him?  Many  a 
workingman  of  today  has  a  sad  heritage  of  secularism. 
Christian  institutions  are  foreign  to  him,  as  foreign  as 
if  they  were  not  under  his  observation.  He  knows  no 
church,  he  knows  no  family  altar,  he  knows  no  Sunday 
as  a  religious  day,  he  knows  no  Bible,  few  if  any  of 
the  words  and  deeds  of  the  Lord  Jesus.  And  his 
thoughts  and  ambitions,  as  well  as  his  associations, 
are  non-religious.  While  j^ou  are  at  church  he  is  dis- 
cussing the  vital  questions  of  labor  at  his  unions. 

Or  consider  the  conditions  of  the  man  who  is  becom- 
ing isolated  in  the  country,  not  the  resident  of  the  coun- 
try village,  but  the  man  who  is  being  left  alone  in  the 
remoter  part  of  the  town,  whose  neighbors  are  moving 
away  from  him,  whose  children  must  go  further  and 


SOCIAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS  33 

further  to  school  or  stay  at  home,  whose  church  is  being 
deserted,  who  looks  into  the  face  of  strangers  and  aliens 
as  they  come  and  go. 

In  the  light  of  such  changes  as  these,  will  any  one 
say  that  social  righteousness,  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  religious 
question,  is  not  a  question  of  conditions?  What  pro- 
portion of  the  life  of  the  country  is  not  affected  directly 
by  these  rapid  changes  in  the  conditioning  of  people, 
by  the  growth  of  cities,  by  the  extension  of  industrial- 
ism, by  the  abandonment  of  the  remoter  districts? 

But  I  have  been  speaking  of  the  average  man.  What 
shall  be  said  of  those  at  the  extremities,  who  are  the 
special  concern  of  social  righteousness,  the  children  of 
poverty  and  the  children  of  mere  luxury?  What  is 
the  chance  for  the  moral  or  spiritual  salvation  of  the 
typical  child  of  either  class:  the  son  of  a  father,  at 
either  extremity  of  the  social  scale,  of  depraved  and 
debauched  mind  and  habits,  who  inherits  his  father's 
passions  with  some  of  their  results,  who  comes  to  know 
his  father's  associates,  and  to  entertain  his  and  their 
views  of  life.  "Even  in  a  palace,"  said  the  old  Stoic 
emperor  and  saint,  "life  may  be  led  well,"  and  so  it 
may  be  in  a  hovel.  But  the  circumstance,  as  any  one 
can  see,  is  tremendously  against  one  in  either  place: 
and  as  we  are  at  last  beginning  to  understand  in  this 
country,  quite  as  much  against  one  under  the  condi- 
tions of  splendid  luxury,  as  of  abject  poverty.  How 
can  we  do  anything  to  help  in  either  case,  save  by  attack- 
ing the  conditions?  In  the  one  case  it  is  a  question 
of  natural  surroundings,  in  the  other  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  atmosphere.  We  can  change  the  material  sur- 
roundings, we  can  charge  the  moral  atmosphere  with 
purity,  and  righteousness.    The  work  below  is  the  work 

3 


34  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

of  physical  reconstruction,  out  of  which  may  come 
moral  sanitation.  The  work  above  is  altogether  that 
of  moral  sanitation,  the  work  alike  of  pulpit,  press,  and 
society,  and  all  together.  The  immediate  work  above 
and  below,  and  all  the  way  between,  so  far  as  it  is  con- 
cerned with  conditions,  is  the  work  of  social  righteous- 
ness. Let  me  remind  you  of  the  great  sociological  par- 
able of  our  Lord,  the  parable  of  the  sower,  a  parable 
which  deals  with  the  apparent  wastes  of  life,  the  seed  by 
the  wayside,  that  among  the  thorns,  that  on  the  shallow 
earth.  But  why  should  the  seed  be  in  unprofitable 
places?  Why  not  fence  the  sown  ground,  why  not 
uproot  the  thorns,  why  not  deepen  the  shallow  soil,  and 
then  wait  the  harvest ;  not  an  equal  harvest,  but  as  nearly 
equal  as  on  any  good  ground,  some  thirty,  some  sixty, 
some  an  hundred  fold. 

But  more  positively  still,  social  righteousness  as  I 
conceive  of  it,  rests  its  argument,  it  stakes  the  very  pos- 
sibility of  its  success,  upon  the  interest  which  it  may 
awaken  of  man  in  man,  of  a  man  in  his  fellow.  I  said 
at  the  beginning  that  the  chief  difficulty  in  establishing 
social  righteousness  lies  in  the  extraordinary  demands 
which  it  makes  for  just  this  kind  of  interest,  it  is  so  much 
easier  to  be  interested  in  small  things  than  in  great. 
But  nothing  which  has  had  to  do  with  the  life  of  men 
has  ever  had  any  power  or  success,  until  it  has  become 
seriously,  and  profoundly,  and  passionately  interested  in 
that  life.  I  use  the  word  interest,  rather  than  concern, 
or  pity,  or  even  love,  because  that  is  the  word  which 
expresses  precisely  what  I  mean.  There  are  so  many 
ways  of  rendering  formal  and  mechanical  service  under 
the  incentive  of  what  we  call  christian  love,  which  fall 
so  far  short  of  our  way  of  doing  the  things  we  are  inter- 


SOCIAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS  35 

ested  in,  that  I  want  to  get  something  which  represents 
just  that  thing.  It  is  the  tremendous  interest  in  men 
as  sinners  which  underhes  the  work  of  the  Salvation 
Army,  the  only  people,  as  Cardinal  Manning  used  to 
say,  who  have  a  passion  for  sinners  simply  because  they 
are  sinners.  It  was  the  interest  which  Mills  and  his 
comrades  felt  for  the  heathen  of  unknown  lands,  as 
they  were  idealized  to  their  minds,  which  created  the 
missions  of  our  century.  It  was  the  interest  of  the 
Puritan,  and  of  all  lovers  of  liberty  in  his  time,  in  men 
as  the  subjects  of  political  and  religious  freedom,  which 
led  him  and  them  on  beyond  their  own  freedom  to  that 
of  other  men  and  other  peoples. 

The  interestingness  of  humanity  is  something  which 
has  been  overshadowed  in  our  time  by  the  conception  of 
utility.  We  have  thought  of  people  at  large  for  what 
they  could  do,  not  for  what  they  were  in  themselves,  as 
individuals,  or  groups,  or  communities.  A  kind  of 
interest  has  been  created  by  the  school  of  realism,  but 
it  has  been  mostly  of  one  sort,  so  that  when  we  read  the 
stories  which  come  to  us  from  the  hamlets  of  Scotland, 
we  say,  "this  is  idealism;  people  are  not  so  interesting 
as  that."  Happily  "Ian  Maclaren"  has  been  here  to 
deny  the  charge.  "No,"  he  said,  "this  is  realism.  I 
have  just  as  much  right  to  be  realistic  in  the  good,  as 
Zola  has  to  be  realistic  in  the  bad.  This  is  the  way  I  see 
men  whom  I  have  known." 

It  is  through  this  principle  of  interest  carrying  with 
it  identification,  sympathy,  helpfulness,  faith,  that  social 
Christianity  is  now  beginning  to  work  through  the 
social  settlement.  The  process  is  plain,  first  to  qual- 
ify one's  self  by  training  and  sympathy  to  see  people 
as  they  are:  then  to  live  among  them,  day  by  day,  in 


86  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

season  and  out  of  season:  then  to  try  to  draw  out  the 
people  among  whom  one  Hves  toward  one  another,  to 
create  the  neighborhood:  then  to  try  to  change  the 
environment,  to  get  better  surroundings,  sanitary  tene- 
ments, and  streets;  if  need  be  to  bring  in  books,  art, 
music,  some  cheering,  refining  influence;  to  co-operate 
with  all  charitable  and  religious  agencies  in  doing  bet- 
ter work  for  the  neighborhood,  seeing  to  it  in  every  pos- 
sible way  that  the  people  are  protected  from  fraud,  and 
trained  toward  independence  and  self-respect,  and  that 
every  man  learns  how  to  help  his  neighbor.  The  social 
settlement  is  yet  in  the  stage  of  experiment,  at  work 
under  limitations,  such  as  the  lack  of  perseverance  in 
residents,  the  lack  of  equipment,  the  lack  of  public  rec- 
ognition. But  it  has  principles  which  will  certainly 
come  to  the  front  in  the  service  of  social  righteousness. 

Such  is  my  conception  of  social  righteousness.  I  have 
tried  to  show  you  what  it  means,  what  it  requires,  and 
how  it  works. 

Not  much  can  be  expected  of  it  in  the  way  of  a  clear 
and  direct  result  until  it  is  able  to  produce  a  habit  of 
mind  which  will  be  receptive  of  its  teachings  and  sensi- 
tive to  its  requirements. 

It  will  be  obliged  to  do  battle  with  theories  and  with 
methods,  which  by  intention  or  by  indifference,  or  by 
ignorance,  are  hostile  to  its  spirit. 

Its  aim,  like  that  of  all  righteousness,  is  the  righteous 
life,  but  its  chief  work  is  to  so  determine  the  conditions 
which  affect  character,  as  to  make  it  harder  for  men 
to  sin,  and  easier,  because  a  simpler  and  clearer  thing, 
for  them  to  do  well. 

And  for  its  work  it  requires  of  those  who  would  be 
its  prophets  and  apostles  nothing  less  than  a  consum- 


SOCIAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS  37 

ing  passion  for  their  fellow  men.  Its  greatest  danger, 
perhaps  greater  than  that  incident  to  any  other  form  of 
Christianity,  is  institutionalism.  If  it  can  be  guarded 
from  that,  if  it  can  be  kept  from  being  reduced  to  some 
temporary  or  even  permanent  specialization,  if  it  can 
be  held  as  the  complement  of  personal  righteousness, — 
its  outgoing,  constructing,  unifying,  reforming  and 
therefore  regenerating  life, — it  will  come  to  be  seen  and 
known  of  men  as  a  power  of  God  unto  salvation:  and 
to  attain  that  end  is  enough  for  any  righteous  man,  or 
for  any  form  of  righteousness. 


IV 

THE  SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  THE  MODERN 

CITY 

Address  at  the  Semi-Centennial  of  the  City  of  Manchester,  Septem- 
ber 6,  1896 

You  have  judged  it  a  fitting  thing  to  give  the  open- 
ing session  of  this  commemorative  week  to  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  spiritual  hfe  of  your  city.  You  have  judged 
rightly.  The  modern  city,  though  founded  in  indus- 
trialism, or  built  upon  commerce,  and  set  toward  every 
form  of  material  development,  has  its  spiritual  life: 
otherwise  its  history  were  quickly  told  in  figures  and 
statistics.  We  must  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  deceived 
by  appearances.  The  modern,  by  contrast  with  the 
ancient  or  medicEval  city,  seems  to  be  non-religious  and 
secular.  The  contrast  which  gives  this  result  is  super- 
ficial. Religion,  of  its  own  notion  and  for  its  own  ends, 
never  built  a  city.  The  religious  spirit  has  moved  men 
to  great  secular  tasks,  including  discovery,  colonization, 
and  conquest,  but  it  has  not  directed  their  energies  to 
the  making  of  cities.  The  instinct  of  worship,  however 
expressed,  cannot  explain  that  strange  mingling  of 
diverse  peoples  and  races  and  religions  which  is  the 
characteristic  of  the  great  municipality,  ancient  or  mod- 
ern. And  even  when  the  people  have  been  of  one  race 
and  of  one  religion,  the  chief  motive  for  massing  the 
popuhition  at  a  given  center  has  not  been  the  spiritual 
motive.  The  site  of  the  most  religious  city  of  the  world, 
"whither  the  tribes  went  up,  tlie  tribes  of  the  Lord  to 


SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  CITIES  39 

the  testimony  of  Israel,"  was  chosen  for  defense.  And 
when  war  ceased  to  be  the  determining  reason  for  the 
location  and  development  of  cities,  then  commerce  and 
trade  came  in  as  the  determining  cause,  just  as  now  it 
is  industrialism. 

But  while  it  is  not  the  genius  of  religion  to  build 
cities,  nor  indeed  to  bring  men  together  in  the  mass  in 
any  permanent  form,  the  great  concern  of  religion,  per- 
haps for  this  very  reason,  is  with  the  city.  The  voice 
of  the  Lord  is  always  crying  to  it.  Whatever  the 
"world"  meant  to  the  prophet  of  the  old  order,  as  some- 
thing to  be  overcome,  whatever  the  "world"  meant  to 
the  apostle  of  the  new  order,  as  something  to  be  re- 
deemed, that  the  "city"  now  means  to  Christianity,  as 
something  to  be  feared  and  loved,  to  be  sei*ved  and  mas- 
tered. The  supreme  question  which  confronts  Chris- 
tianity as  a  religion,  and  which  confronts  it  equally  as 
a  civilization,  is  the  question  of  the  moral  and  spiritual 
outcome  of  the  cities  of  Christendom. 

It  is  peculiarly  the  question  before  our  American 
Christianity.  Notwithstanding  the  rapid  massing  of 
the  population  at  centers,  usually  at  the  call  of  capital, 
we  have  not  become  used  to  the  idea  of  the  city.  Man- 
chester stands  about  midway  in  the  list  of  tabulated 
cities.  But  you  are  just  celebrating  your  semi-centen- 
nial. There  are  other  communities  within  our  fellow- 
ship which  are  much  younger.  Cities  have  grown  in 
fact  much  faster  than  in  idea,  in  the  understanding,  that 
is,  on  the  part  of  the  people  of  their  nature  and  sig- 
nificance. 

What  is  a  city,  in  the  modern  sense  and  under  mod- 
ern conditions  ?  A  city  is  a  self-centered  community,  of 
various  if  not  of  diverse  population,  thoroughly  organ- 


40  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

ized,  having  resources  within  itself  sufficient  for 
increase,  secure  in  the  safeguards  of  order  and  justice, 
equipped  with  the  means  not  only  of  material  but  of 
social  and  spiritual  advancement,  and  great  enough  in 
itself  in  numbers,  in  resources,  and  in  character  to  affect, 
if  not  to  dominate,  the  life  of  the  individual  citizen. 
Incorporation  does  not  make  a  city,  neither  do  num- 
bers, neither  does  wealth.  A  city  is  that  combination 
of  forces  which  really  makes  a  new  unit  of  power.  It 
is  in  fact  the  most  powerful  unit  which  is  today  at  work 
upon  the  individual  life,  more  powerful  than  the  home, 
or  the  state  in  the  larger  meaning,  or  the  church.  It  is 
so  powerful  that  it  creates  a  kind  of  provincialism.  The 
greater  the  city  the  more  difficult  it  is  for  the  average 
citizen  to  escape  from  his  environment.  The  city  edu- 
cates and  enlarges  him  to  a  certain  point,  makes  him,  as 
we  say,  more  cosmopolitan,  and  then  defines,  restricts, 
and  controls  him.  He  reads  the  world  through  the  col- 
umns of  the  local  press,  he  measures  the  outer  movement 
of  industry  and  trade  by  the  effect  upon  the  prevailing 
business,  he  judges  people  at  large  by  the  social  stand- 
ard with  which  he  has  become  familiar.  Such  is  the 
modern  city,  in  its  influence  over  the  average  life  which 
forms  a  part  of  it.  We  are  just  beginning  to  under- 
stand and  feel  its  power.  Such,  therefore,  is  the  moral 
significance  of  the  civic  fact  which  we  celebrate  during 
the  present  week. 

I  think  that  I  can  render  you  no  better  service  at 
this  hour  than  to  speak  to  you  of  the  Spiritual  Life  of 
the  ]\Iodern  City. 

I  use  the  term  spiritual,  rather  than  religious,  sim- 
ply because  it  is  more  inclusive.  We  must  widen  our 
definitions  if  we  are  to  hold  them.    If  we  are  to  keep  the 


SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  CITIES  41 

ancient  terms  we  must  make  them  broad  and  free.  Civ- 
ilization, for  example,  seemed  to  be  a  term  of  inherited 
breadth,  but  how  grandly  its  meaning  was  enlarged  in 
the  recent  address  of  Lord  Chief  Justice  Russell.  *'Civ- 
ihzation,"  he  said,  "is  not  dominion,  wealth,  material 
luxury:  nay,  not  even  a  great  literature  and  education 
widespread,  good  though  those  things  be.  Its  true 
signs  are  thought  for  the  poor  and  suffering,  chivalrous 
regard  and  respect  for  woman,  the  frank  recognition 
of  human  brotherhood  irrespective  of  color  or  nation  or 
religion,  the  narrowing  of  mere  force  as  a  governing 
factor  in  the  world,  the  love  of  ordered  freedom,  abhor- 
rence of  what  is  mean  and  cruel  and  vile,  ceaseless  devo- 
tion to  the  claims  of  justice." 

That  sentence  could  not  have  been  penned  in  its 
entirety  a  century  ago.  Civilization  means  more  today, 
and  religion  means  more,  and  to  make  sure  that  I  get 
the  wider  meaning,  I  prefer  to  speak  in  the  terms 
of  the  spiritual  life.  I  want  to  affirm  the  presence,  the 
reality,  and  the  increasing  power  of  the  spiritual  life 
of  the  modern  city.  I  want  to  unfold,  so  far  as  I  may 
be  able,  the  working  of  that  life  under  the  action  of 
Christianity  upon  the  city,  and  of  the  city  upon  Chris- 
tianity. 

As  I  have  already  intimated,  the  modern  city,  if 
judged  by  appearances,  stands  for  materialism.  Who 
sees  the  things  of  the  spirit  as  he  enters  its  gates?  Here 
and  there  a  church,  or  some  institution  of  beneficence, 
may  come  under  his  notice,  but  how  still  and  powerless 
they  are  in  the  rush  and  tumult  of  the  street.  The  peo- 
ple whom  he  meets  are  for  the  most  part  busy  in  the 
production  of  wealth,  or  in  the  search  after  it :  some  in 
the  display  of  it:   no  one  appears  to  be  indifferent  to 


42  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

it.  The  whole  life  of  the  city  seems  to  be  absorbed  in 
one  pursuit,  you  may  give  it  what  name  you  will,  you 
may  call  it  business,  you  may  call  it  industry;  the  one 
impression  of  it  all  upon  the  mind  of  a  stranger  is  that 
of  the  supremacy  of  the  material  over  the  spiritual. 

Where  are  the  things  of  the  spirit?  What  are  the 
signs  of  its  presence  ? 

The  true  inquirer  will  not  look  first  among  the  things 
which  are  evident.  He  will  not  wait  till  Sunday  to 
begin  his  search.  If  the  spiritual  has  any  real  power, 
it  will  be  able  to  live  in  the  midst  of  the  material,  work- 
ing in  and  through  it  all,  and  directing  it  to  higher  ends. 
The  inquirer,  therefore,  into  the  spiritual  life  of  a  com- 
munity will  go  down  at  once  into  the  work  of  the  peo- 
ple. He  will  seek  to  know  the  local  standards  of  the 
profession,  the  business,  the  industries  of  the  town,  the 
relation  between  employers  and  employed,  the  spirit  in 
which  the  daily  task  is  wrought ;  and  then  he  will  want 
to  know  equally  what  becomes  of  the  gains  of  work, 
whether  expressed  in  income  or  earnings,  how  much  of 
it  is  spent  in  mere  luxury,  or  debasing  pleasures,  how 
much  in  an  honest  and  generous  livelihood,  or  a  noble 
charity.  He  will  follow  men  to  their  homes  that  he  may 
assure  himself  of  their  purity  and  peace.  He  will  go 
into  the  alleys  and  outskirts  of  the  city  to  see  who  may 
be  there  on  errands  of  mercy,  who  are  watching  by  the 
sick,  who  are  relieving  the  suifering.  He  will  mingle 
with  children  in  their  studies  and  sports,  and  note  their 
manners,  temper,  and  training.  He  will  go  into  the 
courts  of  justice,  and  follow  out  the  administration  of 
law,  to  determine  how  far  it  is  firm,  evenhanded,  and 
consistent,  a  steady  and  sure  restraint  ujoon  vice.  He 
will  take  part  in  the  recreations  and  amusements  of  the 


SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  CITIES  43 

people  to  see  if  they  are  natural,  open,  clean,  and  fresh. 
And  when  he  has  made  these  studies  he  will  have 
reached  some  pretty  definite  conclusions  in  his  own  mind 
about  "the  state  of  religion"  before  he  visits  the 
churches.  And  yet  when  he  visits  these  he  will  not  for- 
get that  there  is  a  life  of  faith  as  well  as  of  works,  a  life 
born  out  of  penitence  and  forgiveness,  a  life  of  pro- 
found and  vital  beliefs,  of  personal  consecration  to  a 
personal  Master  and  Redeemer,  of  devout  and  thankful 
acknowledgment  of  the  one  living  and  true  God. 

Such  an  inquiry  as  is  thus  suggested  would  bring 
out,  I  am  convinced,  in  unexpected  proportions,  the 
spiritual  life  of  your  own  and  of  the  average  modern 
city.  It  would  raise  some  doubts,  it  would  leave  some 
unanswered  questions,  it  would  create  not  a  little  disap- 
pointment, it  would  cause  some  dark  and  painful  experi- 
ences, but  it  would  give  a  fine  lesson  in  social  perspec- 
tive. An  unrighteous,  corrupt,  vile  minority,  however 
small,  is  a  disgrace  and  a  shame  to  a  christian  city.  But 
it  is  one  way  of  supporting  and  increasing  that  minority 
to  allow  it  to  show  for  more  than  it  is.  If  the  goodness 
of  a  city  could  be  written  out  as  vividly  as  its  badness, 
if  the  ninety  and  nine  within  the  social  fold  could  be 
made  as  interesting  as  the  one  who  has  gone  astray,  if 
the  story  of  a  virtuous  and  happy  home  had  the  same 
kind  of  fascination  as  the  tale  of  scandal,  if  it  would 
cause  as  much  of  a  sensation  to  find  one  upright,  cour- 
ageous, wide-hearted.  God-fearing  man,  as  to  find  a 
betrayer  or  a  hypocrite,  then  virtue  would  have  the 
same  publicity  which  now  accompanies  vice.  I  would 
not  be  guilty  of  minimizing  the  evil  of  a  city,  nor  of 
making  light  of  its  materializing  tendencies,  but  I  would 
declare  the  things  unpublished,  unnoted,  and  therefore 


44  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

unmeasured,  which  stand  for  its  spiritual  life;  the  pre- 
vailing integrity,  fidelity  to  the  common  duties,  the  self- 
denying  affection  of  the  true  home,  the  charity  which 
suffereth  long  and  is  kind,  the  courage  which  on  occa- 
sions doubles  the  power  of  justice,  the  sincerity  of  the 
honest  servant  of  his  Master  and  worshipper  of  his 
God. 

You  may  have  read  the  "picture,"  as  he  terms  it, 
which  Edward  Everett  Hale  has  drawn  in  his  own  inim- 
itable way  under  the  title,  "If  Jesus  Came  to  Boston." 
It  is  the  story  of  a  Syrian  stranger,  as  he  appears  to 
be,  who  comes  to  the  city  searching  for  a  lost  brother. 
The  search  is  not  unnaturally  long,  but  it  is  long  enough 
to  show  the  variety  of  agencies,  and  helpers,  and  friends, 
at  work  for  the  recovery  of  the  lost.  The  sentence  in 
which  the  stranger  returns  his  thanks,  when  the  search 
is  over,  throws  off  the  guise  in  which  he  had  appeared, 
and  answers  the  half  implied  question  of  the  title: 
"What  you  have  been  doing  to  the  least  of  these  my 
brethi-en  and  sisters,  you  have  done  it  unto  me." 

The  spiritual  life  of  a  city,  as  expressed  in  charity, 
stands  revealed  at  the  touch  of  every  kind  of  want  or 
suffering.  It  is  the  very  complexity  of  that  life  which 
hides  it.  A  single  charity,  one  philanthropist,  would  be 
conspicuous.  John  Eliot  preaching  to  the  Indians  at 
the  Falls  of  Amoskeag  seems  the  embodiment  of  the 
Gospel.  He  was,  just  as  Jolin  Stark  at  Bennington 
was  the  embodiment  of  the  spirit  of  the  Revolution. 
But  the  Gospel  which  Eliot  proclaimed  has  since  gone 
out  into  all  the  world,  and  the  spirit  which  Stark  illus- 
trated has  since  made  a  race  free. 

jNIany  of  us  recall  a  man,  as  he  was  in  his  prime,  a 
tall  and  alert  figure,  a  gracious  presence  in  our  streets, 


SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  CITIES  45 

who  for  more  than  forty  years  fulfilled  among  us  the 
office  of  a  christian  minister,  and  the  no  less  responsible 
office  of  a  christian  citizen.  I  suppose  that  no  name  is 
more  closely  identified  with  the  religious  history  of 
Manchester,  or  more  representative  of  its  earlier  moral 
tone  and  character,  than  the  name  of  Cyrus  Wallace. 
It  is  an  honor  to  his  memory,  as  it  has  been  to  our  advan- 
tage, that  his  pastorate  and  his  citizenship  covered  so 
many  years  of  honorable  life,  of  eloquent  speech,  and 
of  sustained  influence.  And  yet  during  the  past  fifty 
years  scores  of  men  from  various  pulpits,  and  with  dif- 
fering views,  have  uttered  the  fundamental  truths  of 
the  common  Christianity,  and  thousands  upon  thou- 
sands of  our  citizens  have  declared  in  their  daily  lives, 
by  speech,  at  the  polls,  everywhere  and  by  all  means, 
the  principles  of  social  and  political  righteousness.  The 
plain  fact  is  that  the  spiritual  life  of  a  city  cannot  be 
summed  up  in  any  one  man  or  in  many  men,  in  any 
one  church  or  in  many  churches,  in  any  one  institution 
or  in  many  institutions.  It  is  a  diffused  and  distributed 
fife,  and  though  of  far  less  significance  than  might  be 
desired  or  even  expected,  it  is,  as  I  have  affirmed,  a 
reality  and  a  growing  power  in  the  modern  city. 

I  have  been  speaking  thus  far  in  general  terms. 
What  now  shall  we  say  is  the  actual  working  of  the 
spiritual  life  of  the  city  under  the  action  of  Christianity 
upon  the  city,  and  of  the  city  upon  Christianity?  It 
is  impossible  that  two  such  forces  should  act  upon  one 
another  without  producing  some  peculiar  and  distinct 
result.  Cliristianity  cannot  use  precisely  the  same 
means  or  do  precisely  the  same  work,  or  mean  precisely 
the  same  thing  apart  from  its  central  truth,  within  the 
city  and  without.    The  modern  city  creates  conditions, 


46  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

to  which  Christianity  must  conform,  if  it  would  save  or 
even  help  the  city. 

There  are  several  aspects  in  which  the  actual  work- 
ing of  Christianity  in  the  spiritual  life  of  the  city  comes 
before  us.  One  aspect, — it  is  perhaps  the  most  evident 
and  the  most  striking, — is  the  amount  of  energy  which 
must  be  directed  to  the  w^ork  of  recovery.  The  city 
wastes.  It  is  prodigal  of  life.  It  is  actively  wasteful. 
It  exhausts,  it  wears  out,  in  some  cases  it  devitalizes  and 
destroys.  No  corporation  which  uses  machinery  is 
obliged  to  maintain  such  extensive  repair  shops  as  the 
modern  city.  These  are  its  reformatories,  its  hospitals, 
and,  for  that  matter,  its  churches. 

Consider  in  this  connection  the  peculiar  function  of 
the  pulpit  of  the  modern  city,  how  much  of  its  effort 
must  be  directed  to  the  restoration  of  spiritual  force,  or 
the  reinvigoration  of  faith.  The  same  men  and  women 
appear  before  the  preacher  Sunday  by  Sunday,  upon 
whose  lives  every  day  of  the  week  has  made  its  serious 
draft.  There  is  scarcely  one  among  them  who  has  not 
passed  through  some  experience  which  has  tended  to 
reduce  love  to  man,  or  faith  in  God.  It  is  one  great 
office  of  the  preacher  to  recover  the  lost  faith  or  love, 
to  heal  the  hurt  of  the  world.  The  message  which  he 
brings  may  take  on  such  language  as  it  may  please  him 
to  give,  but  it  must  be  full  of  spiritual  health,  it  must 
be  charged  with  spiritual  life.  The  gospel  which  he 
utters  may  or  may  not  be  shaped  in  philosophical 
thought,  it  may  or  may  not  be  touched  with  emotion,  it 
must  have  power  to  invigorate.  If  I  were  asked  to 
name  the  one  distinctive  thing  for  which  the  pulpit  of 
the  modern  city  must  stand,  I  should  say  at  once, 
inspiration. 


SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  CITIES  47 

See,  too,  in  like  manner  how  much  of  the  christian- 
ized charity  of  the  city  is  directed  to  the  recovery  of 
spiritual  as  well  as  of  physical  losses.  The  poverty  of 
the  city  is  of  its  own  type.  There  is  nothing  quite  like 
it  to  be  found  elsewhere.  The  poverty  of  the  country, 
or  of  the  frontier,  is  by  contrast  little  more  than  hard- 
ship, the  absence  of  comfort,  the  endurance,  at  times,  of 
want.  It  was  the  poverty  of  Lincoln  and  Garfield. 
How  different  the  poverty  of  the  city,  the  old  Roman 
poverty,  the  poverty  of  enfeeblement,  or  of  profligacy, 
the  decay,  as  we  say,  of  fortune  or  of  family.  The  min- 
istry to  the  poor  of  the  city  is  for  the  most  part  a  minis- 
try to  the  weak  and  worn.  Its  object  is  not  to  restore 
their  fortune, — they  may  never  have  had  any, — it  is  to 
recover  them.  In  many  cases  this  is  impossible.  Noth- 
ing remains  but  to  fulfill  the  apostoKc  injunction — 
"We  that  are  strong  ought  to  bear  the  infirmities  of 
the  weak."  Herein  lies  the  patience  of  the  true  charity 
of  the  city. 

Or  think  yet  again  how  surely  the  work  of  recovery 
passes  over  into  that  of  rescue.  This  means  infinitely 
more  than  relief,  it  means  deliverance,  sometimes  from 
associations  and  surroundings,  more  often  from  habits 
which  have  become  another  self.  Nothing  shows  so 
clearly  how  necessary  this  work  is,  how  essential  it  is  to 
the  Christianity  of  the  city,  as  the  fact  that  whenever 
it  is  neglected,  whenever  the  existing  orders  of  Chris- 
tianity rise  above  it,  instantly  a  new  order  is  established 
which  makes  this  work  its  special  business.  The  latest 
order  of  Christians  which  has  set  itself  to  this  task  is 
the  Salvation  Army,  which  justifies  its  existence  by  its 
"passion  for  sinners."  It  is  only  the  passion  for  sin- 
ners which  can  overcome  in  them  the  passion  for  sin. 


48  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

And  the  existence  always,  in  some  form,  of  some  body 
of  Christians,  charged  with  this  passion,  shows  the  con- 
stant draft  which  the  city  makes  upon  Christianity  in 
the  work  of  recovery.  It  may  be  impossible  to  locate 
the  responsibility  for  tliis  demand.  It  is  enough  to 
state  the  fact. 

Another  aspect  of  the  direct  working  of  Christianity 
in  the  spiritual  life  of  the  city  appears  in  the  form  of 
collective  or  organized  righteousness.  When  Abraham 
arrested  his  mighty  pleadings  before  the  Lord,  in  be- 
half of  the  doomed  city  of  his  kinsman,  with  the  final 
petition,  "Peradventure  there  be  ten  righteous  men: 
wilt  thou  destroy  all  the  city  for  lack  of  ten?"  he 
anticipated  the  absolute  conditions  of  moral  and  spir- 
itual reform.  For  the  mere  use  of  example  one  right- 
eous man  would  be  as  good  as  twenty.  His  solitary, 
unshared  righteousness  would  be  awfully  impressive. 
So,  as  I  can  conceive,  Abraham  himself  would  have 
towered  aloft  in  Sodom.  But  if  example  fails  in  the 
midst  of  evil,  then  righteousness,  singlehanded  and 
alone,  is  powerless. 

It  has  been  said  that  if  men  were  to  come  together 
today  in  any  great  numbers  without  a  religion,  they 
would  be  obliged  at  least  to  evolve  the  ten  command- 
ments. Society  would  be  impossible  without  these. 
But  grant  the  ten  commandments,  who  will  enforce 
them?  This  of  course  is  the  question  in  every  city,  for 
the  city,  in  an  indirect  way,  organizes  evil;  evil,  that  is, 
becomes  a  part  of  the  trade  and  traffic  of  the  city.  If 
it  were  merely  a  question  of  dealing  with  human  pas- 
sions, as  they  exist  in  the  individual,  if  these  passions 
were  not  utilized  in  the  interest  of  gain,  if  they  were 
not   commercialized,   society  might   rely   chiefly  upon 


SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  CITIES  49 

moral  means  for  their  restraint,  or  for  their  conversion 
into  moral  power.  It  is  the  trade  in  them  which  demands 
another  treatment.  It  is  the  men,  for  the  most  part, 
who  in  themselves  stand  at  a  remove  from  these  pas- 
sions, cold-blooded,  self  controlled,  and  relentless,  who 
defy  the  commandments,  and  through  them,  society. 
Against  such  a  class  of  men,  to  be  f6und  in  every  great 
city,  if  not  the  product  of  it,  there  is  no  sufficient  oppos- 
ing force  save  that  of  organized  righteousness.  Organ- 
ization without  righteousness  is  futile,  and  righteous- 
ness unorganized  is  equally  futile.  An  historian  writ- 
ing of  a  certain  period  in  Enghsh  history  says,  "These 
were  hard  times  for  bad  men  to  hve  in,  good  men  were 
so  terribly  and  formidably  active."  It  is  the  activity  of 
goodness,  if  weighted  with  judgment,  and  made  firm 
through  organization,  which  ensures  the  ends  of  civic 
righteousness. 

That  the  increasing  task  of  the  Christians  of  the  city 
lies  in  this  direction  no  one  can  doubt.  To  so  organize 
public  sentiment,  with  such  breadth  of  view  and  yet 
with  such  definiteness  of  aim,  with  such  inclusiveness 
that  no  rightminded  and  really  earnest  citizen  will  be 
left  out,  and  with  such  constancy  of  purpose  that  enthu- 
siasm and  effort  will  survive  a  given  campaign,  this  is 
becoming  a  recognized  part  of  the  business  of  christian 
citizenship. 

I  call  your  special  attention  to  the  bearing  of  this 
aspect  of  the  Christianity  of  the  city  upon  the  ques- 
tion of  religious  unity.  I  have  said  that  the  city  is  act- 
ing upon  Christianity,  just  as  Christianity  is  acting 
upon  the  city.  This  action  is  in  some  respects  restric- 
tive. The  city  is  at  least  defining  the  work  of  Christian- 
ity, if  not  modifying  its  types  of  character.    But  in  this 


50  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

matter  of  religious  unity  the  influence  of  the  city  is 
broad  and  constructive.  The  cit}^  can  afford  a  multiplic- 
ity of  denominations  better  than  the  country,  but  it  can- 
not afford  the  denominational  spirit.  That  is  too  costly 
a  luxury  for  religion  anywhere.  So  long  as  christian 
behevers  and  worshipers  differ  in  the  emphasis  which 
they  wish  to  place  upon  particular  forms  of  belief  or  of 
service,  there  are  manifest  advantages  from  such  lib- 
erty, provided  it  does  not  prevent  the  liigher  unity.  The 
city  enters  the  protest  of  its  own  great  spiritual  life, 
the  moment  a  practical  working  unity  is  forbidden  in 
the  name  of  authority  or  in  the  name  of  liberty.  It  lifts 
its  moral  necessities  before  the  separated  and  divided 
forces  of  righteousness,  and  asks  if  this  condition  must 
needs  be.  Who  creates  it ?  Who  justifies  it?  It  passes 
no  judgment  upon  questions  of  polity  or  questions  of 
faith,  it  respects  the  sacredness  of  inspiration  and  the 
sacredness  of  institutions,  but  it  asserts  through  all  its 
pleading  necessities  the  supremacy  of  righteousness. 

The  city,  in  its  action  upon  Christianity,  is  thus  be- 
coming one  of  the  great  unifying  forces  in  religion.  A 
result  is  being  achieved  under  its  demands  for  which 
other  agencies  have  proved  insufficient.  I  do  not  over- 
estimate the  effect  of  its  influence.  It  does  not  accom- 
plish, or  even  forecast  ecclesiastical  unity.  That  must 
come,  if  at  all,  from  within.  It  must  have  an  inward, 
not  an  outward,  compulsion.  But  moral  and  religious 
unity,  co-operation  for  work,  alliance  for  conflict,  these 
are  the  contribution  of  the  modern  city  to  Christianity. 

Among  so  many  illustrations  of  this  fact,  I  hesitate 
to  give  an  example.  But  there  is  one  near  enough  at 
hand,  and  so  pertinent  that  I  refer  to  it.  For  several 
years  the  city  of  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  has  been 


SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  CITIES  51 

able  to  maintain  a  firm,  consistent,  and  efficient  posi- 
tion on  the  practical  issues  of  temperance.  This  result 
has  been  brought  about  by  the  union  of  all  the  forces 
which  make  up  the  higher  life  of  the  city.  The  voice  of 
labor,  of  business,  of  the  university,  and  of  the  church 
has  been  one  and  the  same.  The  union  among  the 
churches  has  been  especially  noticeable,  because  natural, 
sustained,  and  complete.  It  has  represented  all  polities 
and  all  faiths.  Catholics  and  Protestants  have  spoken 
from  the  same  platform,  and  have  worked  together  at 
the  polls.  And  when  recently  one  of  the  bravest  and 
most  earnest  champions  of  the  cause,  the  minister  of  a 
certain  denomination,  was  called  to  a  western  city,  the 
clergy  of  every  faith,  and  the  citizens  of  every  party 
came  together  to  bid  him  God  speed.  Such  here  and 
there  is  the  present  fact.  Such  is  the  growing  hope  for 
the  influence  of  the  city  upon  Christianity.  Organized 
righteousness  is  one  step,  it  is  a  long  step,  toward 
religious  unity. 

There  is  another  aspect  in  which  the  actual  working 
of  Christianity  in  the  spiritual  life  of  the  city  is  becom- 
ing distinctive,  namely,  the  production  of  unusual  types 
of  character.  We  have  been  accustomed  to  look  to  the 
country  for  individuality.  We  have  said  that  the  city 
makes  men  conventional,  molds  them  to  its  own  type, 
and  so  makes  them  alike.  I  believe  that  this  distinction 
is  still  true  in  large  degree.  We  have  also  been  accus- 
tomed to  look  elsewhere  than  to  the  city  for  the  more 
devout  forms  of  religious  life.  Paul,  indeed,  addressed 
the  Christians  of  Corinth  as  called  to  be  saints,  but 
the  response  was  not  such  as  to  create  a  precedent  in 
favor  of  the  saintliness  of  the  city.  In  one  respect,  how- 
ever, the  balance  of  religious  power  as  between  locali- 


62  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

ties  has  changed.  The  prophet  no  longer  comes  from 
the  desert.  The  message  which  he  bears  is  not  only  to 
the  city,  but  from  within  the  city,  and  from  the  city  to 
the  country  at  large.  The  great  prophetic  denuncia- 
tions of  wrong,  the  curse  of  slavery,  the  crime  of  cor- 
ruption, have  come  from  the  pulpit  and  from  the  press 
of  the  city.  The  city  is  becoming  the  home,  the  moral 
birthplace,  of  the  reformer. 

The  types  of  character,  however,  which  I  have  in 
mind  as  I  speak,  are  more  strictly  personal.  They  are 
represented  by  men  as  individuals  or  in  groups. 

The  Christianity  of  the  city  is  developing  a  type  of 
character  strong  in  the  power  of  resistance.  The  city 
is  a  repository  of  trusts.  Its  citizens  are  becoming  in 
large  degree  trust  bearers.  As  such  they  are  exposed 
to  extraordinary  temptations.  Some  fall  before  tempta- 
tion, but  the  proportion  is  small,  and  out  of  those  who 
stand,  there  are  constant  examples  of  those  who  stand 
grandly,  with  a  magnificent  resolution  and  tenacity. 
Every  one  who  knows  such  men,  knows  that  they  are 
worthy  of  the  title  borne  by  one  of  the  heroes  of  the 
war, — "The  Rock  of  Chickamauga."  The  tides  of  finan- 
cial battles  roll  against  them  in  vain.  When  the  battle 
is  over  they  have  held  their  ground.  They  are  at  their 
post. 

Let  us  not  underestimate  the  negative  virtues,  the 
virtues  of  the  Old  Testament,  the  virtues  of  men 
trained  under  the  ceaseless  iteration  of  the  command, 
"Thou  shalt  not."  They  give  security  to  our  institu- 
tions. They  are  the  safeguard  of  the  national  honor. 
There  are  times  when  the  country  rests  upon  the  con- 
servatism of  the  cities.  There  are  national  issues  which 
the  cities  as  such  are  apt  to  ignore  or  neglect,  or  upon 


SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  CITIES  63 

which  they  act  unintelligently.  The  pohtical  judgment 
of  a  city  is  not  always  up  to  the  standard  of  the  country 
at  large.  But  when  issues  are  at  stake  affecting  the 
stability  of  institutions,  the  rights  of  inheritance  and 
possession,  the  credit  of  individuals  and  of  the  govern- 
ment, the  city  is  not  reckless.  And  to  the  charge  of  self 
interest  which  may  be  urged,  the  reply  is  sufficient,  that 
at  such  a  time  whoever  saves  himself  and  defends  his 
own,  thereby  defends  every  other  man  and  saves  the 
state. 

And  closely  akin  to  this  type  which  is  characterized 
by  the  power  of  resistance,  another,  and  perhaps  finer, 
type  is  gradually  forming.  It  is  that  of  character  under 
self-restraint,  reaching  at  times  to  self-denial  and  sac- 
rifice. Consider  the  temptations  which  today  confront 
young  men  of  fortune  in  the  city.  They  have  the  choice 
of  self-restraint  or  profligacy.  Some  choose  profligacy. 
These  are  the  most  serious  menace  we  have  to  the  sta- 
bility of  democratic  institutions.  The  mere  display  of 
wealth  is  aggravating  to  a  democracy,  especially  if  the 
wealth  displayed  can  show  no  equivalent  in  some  form 
of  the  public  good.  The  flaunting  of  wealth  in  the 
eyes  of  men,  the  sign  of  shame,  is  not  only  beastly,  it 
has  a  political  significance,  it  is  destructive  of  every 
principle  on  which  the  Republic  is  based. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  suppose  that  the  man  who  has 
this  open  choice  does  not  choose  to  be  a  profligate.  Sup- 
pose he  holds  himself  in  restraint,  and  listens  to  higher 
ambitions,  and  gives  himself  and  his  fortune  to  noble 
ends,  shall  no  credit  be  given  to  him  commensurate  with 
the  shame  which  attaches  to  his  brother?  Such 
choices  are  being  made  constantly.  The  city  is  to  be 
credited  with  the  good  as  well  as  with  the  bad  choices. 


64  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

If  it  allures  with  its  vices,  it  appeals  through  its  wide 
and  far  reaching  opportunities.  And  when  the  appeal 
is  heard  and  obeyed,  a  type  of  character  is  developed 
which  is  unique.  It  cuts  across  that  self-seeking  type 
which  is  continually  seeking  and  using  the  city  for  gain 
or  advantage.  It  represents  what  the  young  ruler 
might  have  represented  if  he  had  given  his  possessions 
to  the  poor  and  followed  Christ.  The  man  of  today 
obeys  that  injunction  of  the  Master,  not  by  parting 
company  with  his  possessions,  but  by  giving  himself  in 
and  through  them  to  the  public  good. 

Such  types  of  character  as  these  are  peculiar  to  the 
city.  They  can  hardly  be  developed  elsewhere.  They 
are  the  outcome  of  its  temptations  and  opportunities. 

The  final  aspect  of  the  working  of  Christianity  in  and 
through  the  spiritual  life  of  the  city,  to  which  I  refer  as 
being  peculiar  and  distinctive,  appears  from  time  to 
time  in  the  moral  and  religious  enthusiasms  of  men  in 
the  mass.  The  city  alone  can  reveal  in  its  just  propor- 
tions the  enthusiasm  of  humanity.  The  great  bishop 
of  North  Africa,  wearied  with  the  distractions  of  the 
cities  and  sick  at  heart  of  their  conventionalities,  took 
his  appeal  on  one  occasion  straight  to  the  individual 
soul.  "I  summon  thee,  O  Soul,  not  as  thou  art  in  the 
groves  and  academies,  not  as  thou  art  in  the  market- 
place, but  as  thou  art  at  the  cross  roads,  unlettered  and 
unlearned,  naked  and  alone."  He  had  his  authority  for 
such  an  appeal  in  the  very  constitution  of  the  human 
soul.  It  was  made  to  stand  by  itself  before  God.  "So 
then  every  one  of  us  must  give  account  of  himself  to 
God."  But  there  is  an  instinct  in  every  man  which 
craves  a  place  in  the  great  human  brotherhood.  At 
times  we  all  long  to  lose  ourselves  in  it.    We  want  to  be 


SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  CITIES  65 

caught  up  into  the  higher  moods  and  swayed  by  the 
wider  passions  which  are  the  property  not  of  men  as 
individuals,  but  of  humanity.  The  properties  of  water 
are  the  same  in  all  places.  The  ocean  alone  feels  the 
tides.  Men  in  their  individual  and  associated  lives  have 
movement  and  current.  The  tides  are  in  humanity. 
And  we  catch  something  of  their  ebb  and  flow,  as  the 
local  mass  of  which  we  are  a  part  begins  to  be  moved  by 
a  common  impulse.  The  moral  uprising  of  a  city  has  in 
it  the  heave  and  swell  of  the  sea. 

I  have  heard  once  and  again,  in  the  graphic  words  of 
Dr.  Fenn,  the  story  of  the  uprising  of  Manchester  at 
the  fall  of  Sumter,  when  men  were  lifted  by  one  com- 
mon movement  on  the  full  swell  of  patriotism.  That 
one  event  changed  in  a  moment  the  moral  tone  and  tem- 
per of  the  city.  Men  walked  these  streets  with  another 
bearing,  they  wrought  their  daily  tasks  with  a  more 
serious  purpose,  they  talked  one  with  another  in  a  lan- 
guage which  had  a  meaning,  they  prayed  face  to  face 
with  God.  Whether  they  went  to  the  field  or  stayed  at 
their  work,  they  fought  the  battles  of  the  Republic  in 
their  own  souls.  Every  city  of  the  North  was  swayed 
by  the  same  emotion.  It  was  as  if  the  foundations  were 
broken  up,  and  deep  was  calling  unto  deep. 

The  spiritual  life  of  a  city  may  show  a  yet  deeper  and 
more  spiritual  possession.  I  appeal  to  any  man  who 
has  seen  and  felt  the  spirit  of  God  descending  upon  a 
city,  and  resting  upon  it.  A  whole  city,  feeling  at  its 
heart  the  peace  of  God,  the  strife  of  tongues  still,  enmi- 
ties and  jealousies  and  hate  subdued,  the  love  of  neigh- 
bor for  the  time  as  natural  as  the  love  of  self,  the  things 
of  the  spirit  as  plain  as  the  things  of  sense,  the  heart  of 
the  dull  made  quick  to  the  truth,  the  doubts  and  fears 


56  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

and  unbeliefs  of  men  lost  in  the  reality  of  faith  and  the 
joy  of  forgiveness,  what  is  all  this  but  the  earthly 
realization  though  for  the  time,  of  the  city  of  God,  a 
vision  of  the  new  Jerusalem  come  down  from  God  out 
of  Heaven? 

Brethren  and  friends  of  this  christian  city:  In  speak- 
ing to  you  of  the  spiritual  life  of  the  modern  city,  I  have 
spoken  out  of  an  impulse,  not  yet  spent,  from  the  spir- 
itual life  of  your  own  city.  Coming  here  at  the  oj)ening 
of  my  ministry,  a  learner  rather  than  a  teacher  of  the 
mysteries  of  the  Kingdom  of  God,  I  came  to  see,  as  I 
then  beheved,  the  things  of  the  spirit  in  tliis  community. 
Looking  back  over  a  score  of  years,  I  am  confident  that 
I  was  not  deceived.  What  things  I  was  then  taught  by 
experience  to  recognize  as  belonging  to  the  spiritual  hf  e 
of  a  city,  these  same  things  I  have  learned  to  recognize 
elsewhere  with  a  clearer  vision  and  with  a  larger  faith. 
Our  churches  are  not  separate  from  the  workshop,  the 
ofiice,  the  school,  the  college.  The  men  with  whom  we 
worship  are  the  very  men  with  whom  we  walk  the  street, 
at  whose  side  we  work,  with  whom  we  lay  the  plans  of 
our  business  enterprises,  with  whom  we  study  in  our 
search  after  knowledge  and  truth.  Let  us  not  rule  God 
out  of  any  part  of  his  world.  Why  should  not  He  make 
His  habitation  wherever  men  build  their  homes,  and 
do  their  work,  and  fight  their  battles?  What  has  reli- 
gion to  fear  from  the  modern  city,  except  it  be  some 
kind  of  faint-heartedness  or  doubt  or  disloyalty  on  the 
part  of  His  church? 

I  congratulate  you  upon  the  assurances,  the  guar- 
antees, you  have  for  christian  service  and  christian  cit- 
izenship in  this  city.  The  record  of  the  past  as  you  have 
told  it  in  vour  churches  is  an  honorable  record.     But 


SPIRITUAL  LIFE  OF  CITIES  57 

Manchester  is  still  in  the  formative  state.  The  fifty 
years  which  are  past  have  not  so  determined  its  spir- 
itual life  that  it  may  not  be  broadened  and  deepened  in 
every  part.  Open  your  minds  and  hearts  yet  more  and 
more,  I  pray  you,  to  the  spiritual  capacity  of  your  city, 
so  that  its  material  supremacy,  while  thereby  ennobled 
and  ensured,  may  yet  be  overshadowed  by  the  power  of 
the  city  for  righteousness. 


THE   CONSCIENCE    OF   THE   NATION 

Sermon  on   the   Liberation  of  Cuba,  College  Church,    Hanover, 

April  22,  1898 

There  is  an  ancient  prophecy  which  forecasts  the 
time  when  the  world  will  recognize  and  acknowledge 
the  conscience  of  nations.  The  nation  which  has  the 
bravest,  the  most  trustworthy,  the  most  thoroughly  or- 
ganized and  developed  conscience,  other  things  being 
equal,  will  have  the  right  of  way.  "Open  ye  the  gates," 
runs  this  joyous  prophecy,  "that  the  righteous  nation 
which  keepeth  truth  may  enter  in." 

I  wish  to  speak  to  you  today,  under  the  incentives  of 
the  experience  through  which  we  are  passing,  concern- 
ing this  conscience  of  the  nation.  It  is  really  the  deter- 
mining factor  in  the  present  situation.  Whichever  way 
the  immediate  issue  before  us  may  turn,  the  strain  of  the 
decision  will  fall  upon  the  national  conscience.  If, 
through  any  resources  of  statesmanship  yet  left,  war 
may  be  averted,  the  conscience  of  the  nation  will  be  held 
to  the  task  of  securing  the  end  for  which  war  seemed 
to  be  necessary.  We  have  undertaken  to  say,  we  have 
said,  that  the  inhumanity,  which  has  been  practiced  in 
Cuba  under  the  name  of  war,  must  be  stopped.  War  is 
terrible,  but  it  is  not  necessarily  inhuman.  Inhumanity 
has  no  right  to  the  name  of  war.  President  Cleveland 
affirmed  the  obligation  of  the  American  people  to  stay 
this  "useless  sacrifice  of  human  life."  President 
McKinley,  upon  taking  office,  reaffirmed  this  obliga- 


CONSCIENCE  OF  THE  NATION         59 

tion  as  a  more  imperative  and  still  nearer  duty :  and  in 
his  recent  message  he  declared  with  a  stronger  emphasis, 
"In  the  name  of  hmnanity,  in  the  name  of  civilization,  in 
behalf  of  endangered  American  interests  which  give 
us  the  right  to  speak  and  to  act,  the  war  in  Cuba  must 
stop."  The  American  people  thus  stand  conmiitted  to 
a  most  serious  business.  The  step  proposed  may  be  in 
advance  of  existing  international  law.  International 
law  is  made  by  the  actual  advance  of  some  one  nation  in 
the  direction  toward  which  all  are  tending.  We  have 
taken  a  position  from  which  we  cannot  retreat  in  honor, 
to  be  maintained,  if  through  peace,  no  less  resolutely 
than  through  war. 

And  if  war  is  the  more  probable  and,  as  it  now  seems, 
the  near  alternative,  then  the  burden  which  rests  upon 
the  national  conscience  is  no  less  serious.  It  must  guar- 
antee the  restriction  of  the  war  to  the  one  purpose  for 
which  it  was  invoked.  This  is  no  easy  guarantee  to  ful- 
fill, for  war  once  begun  for  high  ends  passes  on  rapidly 
towards  secondary  ends.  This  war  begun  in  the  interest 
of  the  common  humanity  will,  if  unrestrained,  pass 
straight  on  to  the  end  of  national  aggrandizement.  We 
repudiate  today,  with  one  accord,  the  thought  of  the 
annexation  of  Cuba.  Shall  we  continue  to  repudiate 
that  idea  as  we  realize  the  cost  of  war?  Shall  we  find 
a  sufficient  recompense  for  the  losses  incurred,  and  the 
new  debt  added  to  our  liabilities,  in  the  consciousness 
of  a  humane  and  righteous  duty  discharged?  Or,  to 
take  another  test,  Senator  Hoar  has  made  the  sugges- 
tion that  "it  is  well  understood  that  the  aspiration  of 
Gomez  is  for  a  black  republic  in  the  West  Indies.  If 
he  should  get  control  of  Cuba,"  he  goes  on  to  say,  "and 
if  Hayti  and   San  Domingo  join  him,   and  j^erhaps 


60  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

Porto  Rico,  he  aspires  to  give  an  example  to  mankind, 
showing  how  men  of  the  colored  race  may  rule  them- 
selves as  equals,  socially  and  politically  and  in  all  other 
ways,  in  freedom  and  honor."  Should  this  aspiration 
prove  to  be  the  natural  and  fit  outcome  of  the  struggle, 
will  the  nation,  north  and  south,  honor  it,  and  be  con- 
tent with  the  issue? 

These  and  like  tests  confront  the  national  conscience, 
from  whatever  point  of  view  we  approach  the  issue. 
Have  we  a  national  conscience  which  can  bear  the  strain 
which  is  coming  upon  it  ?  This  is  a  far  greater  question 
than  that  of  peace  or  war.  It  goes  with  either.  And  it 
takes  hold  upon  the  future  of  the  country.  Spain 
has  far  less  at  stake,  and  Cuba,  than  the  United  States. 
Spain  may  lose  a  province,  and  Cuba  may  not  realize 
the  aspirations  of  its  leaders:  the  United  States  has 
committed  itself  by  this  act  to  a  far  reaching  and  irrev- 
ocable policy.  By  as  much  as  its  future  is  greater,  and 
apparently  longer  than  that  of  other  peoples  concerned, 
by  so  much  is  its  interest  more  vital  and  profound. 

I  have  had  occasion  elsewhere  to  remind  some  of  you 
that  we  are  rapidly  becoming  a  world-power.  The  step 
which  we  now  propose  to  take  is  a  long  step  into  the 
world.  Cuba  is  virtually  in  Europe.  Whatever  we  do 
there,  even  in  the  name  of  humanity,  touches  the  na- 
tions, it  touches  still  more  sensitively  the  races.  It  is 
already  the  Anglo-Saxon  versus  the  Latin.  Our  action 
may  necessitate  further  advances;  it  may  determine 
future  alliances.  I  see  no  escape  from  this  wider 
responsibility.  We  cannot  afford  to  purchase  our  iso- 
lation at  the  price  of  courage  or  of  humanity.  We  must 
go  forward.  But  I  would  be  sure  that  you  do  not 
underestimate  the  moral  significance  of  each  advancing 


CONSCIENCE  OF  THE  NATION         61 

step.  Many  of  you  will  live  to  see  results,  which  now 
seem  to  be  remote  if  not  impossible.  That  is  no  reason 
why  we  should  falter  or  be  afraid.  It  is  a  reason  why 
we  should  be  sober  minded,  sure  of  our  motives  and 
methods,  and,  above  all,  determined  that  the  national 
conscience  shall  assert  its  authority,  and  take  command 
in  this  whole  procedure.  Therefore,  the  subject  which 
I  am  urging  upon  your  thought  today,  the  conscience  of 
the  nation  as  the  director  and  arbiter  of  the  impending 
struggle. 

Let  us  go  out  a  little  way  from  the  immediate  issue 
to  consider  the  full  import  of  our  subject.  The  con- 
science of  nations  is  a  term  which  we  have  not  held  by 
inheritance.  The  idea  itself,  as  a  working  principle, 
is  being  slowly  evolved  under  the  conditions  of  modern 
civilization.  The  conception  of  the  state  as  a  moral 
person  is  not  new.  The  Old  Testament  is  full  of 
it.  Greek  philosophy  taught  that  the  "end  of  the  state 
is  not  only  to  live  but  to  live  nobly."  Puritanism 
affirmed  through  Milton  that  a  "nation  ought  to  be  but 
as  one  huge  Christian  personage,  one  mighty  growth  or 
stature  of  an  honest  man,  as  big  and  compact  in  virtue 
as  in  body."  But  the  practical  idea  of  a  conscience  in 
the  state,  organized  and  developed  to  ensure  this  con- 
ception, is  comparatively  new.  Underneath  all  national 
ideals,  however  high  they  may  have  been,  there  has 
always  lurked  the  sentiment  that  the  nation  was  not 
to  be  held  to  the  ordinary  distinctions  of  right  and 
wrong.  The  sentiment  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  The 
nation  as  it  rises  before  us  in  its  majesty,  does  seem  to 
be  something  other  than  we  are  in  self-determining 
power,  more  worthy  of  being  a  law  unto  itself.  And 
this  sentiment  is  heightened  by  the  fact  that  the  nation 


62  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

is  empowered  to  use  means  which  are  not  entrusted  to 
private  hands.  The  nation  can  make  war.  But  war 
involves  the  art  of  deception.  If  this  art  can  be 
employed  in  war  why  not  in  diplomacy?  It  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at,  I  say,  that  the  conscience  of  nations  is 
something  not  easily  recognized  and  acknowledged. 
Modern  statesmanship  has  never  endorsed  the  extreme 
position  of  Machiavelli,  extreme  even  for  him,  that  "it 
is  frequently  necessary,  for  the  upholding  of  the  state, 
to  go  to  work  against  faith,  against  charity,  against 
humanity,  against  religion,"  but  it  has  been  apt  to  rest 
midway  in  the  axioms,  "Whatever  policy  requires,  jus- 
tice sanctions,"  or  "There  are  no  crimes  in  politics,  only 
blunders."  Gradually  only,  and  with  difficulty,  have 
we  reached  the  theoretical  position  that  a  nation,  our 
nation,  ought  to  sj^eak  the  truth  like  a  man,  and  ought 
to  do  right  like  a  man. 

And  singularly  enough  in  this  struggle  of  modern 
civilization  to  organize  conscience  in  nations,  there  has 
been  less  help  than  might  have  been  expected  from  two 
natural  sources  of  aid,  religion  and  liberty.  Religion 
has  too  often  sanctioned  actions  which  have  been  dis- 
tinctly wrong.  It  has  sometimes  advised,  and  at  other 
times  uplield  the  principle,  that  the  end  justifies  the 
means.  And  even  now,  whenever  a  christian  nation 
does  violence  to  the  rights  of  a  pagan  nation,  and  there- 
by opens  the  way  to  missions,  we  are  apt  to  refer  to  the 
act  as  one  of  the  overrulings  of  Providence,  and  let  it 
go  at  that.  The  conscience  of  the  church  is  still  blunt 
to  the  primary  distinctions  of  right  and  wrong  in  mat- 
ters affecting  the  spread  of  Christianity. 

And  modern  liberty,  in  its  heroic  struggle  for  human 
rights,  has  not  always  built  up  the  conscience  of  the 


CONSCIENCE  OF  THE  NATION         63 

nation  it  has  created.  The  result  has  sometimes  been 
sentiment  rather  than  conscience.  It  is  impossible  even 
at  this  day  to  analyze  the  French  Revolution  and  find 
its  absolute  moral  content.  Here  again  we  ought  not 
to  be  altogether  surprised  at  the  result.  We  could  not 
reasonably  expect  that  previous  conditions  would  bring 
forth  a  symmetrical  development  of  conscience.  Every 
nation  has  had  some  one  supreme  and  absorbing  end  to 
gain,  like  religious  freedom  or  political  equality.  Until 
that  was  gained  nothing  else  could  be  considered  in  its 
proper  value.  Now  the  conditions  are  changed.  The 
advanced  nations  have  secured  the  first  objects  of 
national  aspiration.  Religious  toleration  is  a  substan- 
tial and  assured  fact.  Political  rights  are  in  full  exer- 
cise. These  nations  are  magnificently  equipped  with 
the  advantages  of  religious  and  political  freedom. 

The  new  demands  upon  national  life,  upon  the  life  of 
the  great  nations,  are  of  another  kind.  They  all  have 
duties  in  common,  duties  to  one  another,  the  duty  of  the 
strong  to  the  weak,  a  joint  responsibility  it  may  be,  a 
separate  responsibility  it  may  be,  for  some  incompetent 
sovereignty,  a  common  concern  in  regard  to  declining 
civilizations  and  degenerate  peoples,  a  like  interest  in 
the  new  wealth  created  by  science  or  brought  to  light 
by  discovery,  and  an  equal  obligation  for  the  advance- 
ment of  learning,  justice  and  truth.  Here  is  the  train- 
ing school  for  the  conscience  of  nations.  No  nation  has 
as  yet  become  proficient  under  this  training,  but  results 
have  already  been  secured.  International  law  has  been 
advanced,  arbitration  has  been  introduced,  disturbing 
ambitions  have  been  held  in  check,  war  has  been  miti- 
gated, and  diplomacy  has  been  brought  nearer  to  the 
common    standards    of   truth.      Even   the   concert   of 


64  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

Europe  has  a  moral  intent,  and  it  has  certain  moral 
results  to  show,  albeit  it  falters  in  great  emergencies 
through  jealousy  and  distrust. 

And  now  we  have  come  to  take  our  part  under  this 
new  discipline  of  the  nations.  The  national  conscience 
has  already  been  under  training.  No  nation  ever  passed 
through  a  severer  moral  discipline  than  that  through 
which  we  passed  in  the  overthrow  of  slavery.  How  can 
I  make  that  earlier  discipline  real  to  the  men  of  another 
generation?  Let  me  call  up  these  words  from  the  sec- 
ond Inaugural  of  Mr.  Lincoln — written  after  four 
years  of  war : 

"The  Almighty  has  his  own  purposes.  'Woe  unto 
the  world  because  of  offences,  for  it  must  needs  be  that 
offences  come:  but  woe  to  that  man  by  whom  the 
offence  cometh.'  If  we  shall  suppose  that  American 
slavery  is  one  of  these  offences,  which  in  the  providence 
of  God  must  needs  come,  but  which  having  continued 
through  his  appointed  time,  he  now  wills  to  remove,  and 
that  he  gives  to  both  North  and  South  this  terrible  war 
as  the  woe  due  to  those  by  whom  the  offence  came,  shall 
we  discern  therein  any  departure  from  those  divine 
attributes  which  the  believers  in  a  living  God  always 
ascribe  to  him?  Fondly  do  we  hope,  fervently  do  we 
pray,  that  this  mighty  scourge  of  war  may  soon  pass 
away.  Yet,  if  God  wills  that  it  continue  until  all  the 
wealth  piled  by  the  bondsman's  two  hundred  and  fifty 
years  of  unrequited  toil  shall  be  sunk,  and  until  every 
drop  of  blood  drawn  with  the  lash  shall  be  paid  with 
the  sword;  as  was  said  three  thousand  years  ago,  so 
still  it  must  be  said,  'The  judgments  of  the  Lord  are 
true  and  righteous  altogether.'  " 

In  these  words  of  humility  and  penitence  the  heart  of 


CONSCIENCE  OF  THE  NATION         65 

the  nation  found  utterance.  The  national  conscience 
was  on  its  knees  before  God.  The  experience  of  today- 
is  different.  We  are  not  now  called  to  atone  for 
offences,  to  pay  the  cost  of  unrequited  toil,  or  undergo 
the  penalty  for  injustice  and  greed.  Were  such  the 
case  we  should  at  least  have  the  advantage  of  a  chas- 
tened spirit.  The  present  work  to  which  we  believe  we 
are  called  is  a  more  delicate,  if  not  a  more  serious  work. 
It  is  to  set  another  nation's  house  in  order,  to  rebuke 
another's  inhumanity,  to  ensure  freedom  beyond  the 
limits  of  our  own  territory.  Are  we  in  the  spirit  to  do 
this  business?  I  do  not  ask,  have  we  the  power,  or  the 
courage,  or  even  the  enthusiasm.  The  question  which  I 
put  at  the  beginning  is  continuously  in  order.  Have  we 
a  national  conscience  equal  to  the  task?  Or  better  the 
question,  because  answerable, — have  we  a  national  con- 
science which  can  be  made  equal  to  the  task?  That  I 
must  believe,  otherwise  I  cannot  understand  how  God 
has  put  the  task  upon  us.  I  cannot  believe  that  it  is 
mere  vainglory,  or  mere  revenge,  or  mere  passion  of  any 
sort,  which  is  now  stirring  the  heart  of  the  nation  at 
large. 

What  shall  we  do  then  to  make  sure  that  the  con- 
science of  the  nation  is  made  equal  to  its  business  ?  First, 
let  every  conscientious  citizen  put  himself  in  a  respon- 
sible, rather  than  in  an  indifferent  or  critical  attitude  to 
the  Government.  The  tendency  with  us  all  is  to  insist 
too  much  upon  the  incidents  in  proportion  to  the  sub- 
stance of  a  great  issue.  Unconsciously  we  become  the 
partisans  of  a  method.  There  are  better  and  poorer 
methods.  A  given  method  may  be  right  or  wrong 
according  to  time  and  place.  Personally,  I  have 
believed  that  the  method  of  statesmanship  ought  to  have 


66  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

undisputed  and  unvexed  opportunity  before  the  resort 
to  war.  But  that  question  is  now  practically  settled. 
The  President  has  said  that  he  can  go  no  further  until 
there  has  been  put  into  his  hands  full  authority  for  war. 

"In  view  of  these  facts  and  considerations,  I  ask  the 
Congress  to  authorize  and  empower  the  President  to 
take  measures  to  secure  a  full  and  final  termination  of 
hostilities  between  the  government  of  Spain  and  the 
people  of  Cuba,  and  to  secure  in  the  island  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  stable  government  capable  of  maintaining 
order  and  observing  its  international  obligations,  insur- 
ing peace,  tranquility  and  security  to  its  citizens  as  well 
as  our  own,  and  to  use  the  military  and  naval  forces  of 
the  United  States  as  may  be  necessary  for  these 
purposes." 

Personally,  I  believe  that  intervention  is  more  con- 
sistent with  the  end  proposed  than  recognition.  Recog- 
nition seems  to  me  to  be  the  weaker  and  more  question- 
able policy.  But  the  difference  is  still  one  of  method. 
It  does  not  cover  the  question  at  issue.  That  again  has 
been  determined.  The  nation  has  practically  decided 
that  it  is  its  duty  to  relieve  distress  and  to  restore  order 
in  Cuba,  and  however  that  is  done,  the  nation  must  be 
prepared  to  take  the  consequences,  which  at  present  no 
one  can  foresee.  Neither  method  can  prevent  compli- 
cations, nor  guarantee  speedy  withdrawal.  The  pacifi- 
cation of  Cuba  by  the  United  States  will  not  be  the 
work  of  a  day.  The  essential  duty  of  citizenship, — this 
is  the  principle  I  advocate, — is  that  of  identification 
with  the  great  purposes  of  a  nation,  provided  they  are 
right.  It  corresponds  to  the  duty  of  protest,  provided 
they  are  wrong.  Between  the  two  there  is  no  respon- 
sible position.  If  you  believe,  as  I  do,  that  in  this  matter 


CONSCIENCE  OF  THE  NATION         67 

the  nation  is  essentially  right  in  its  purposes,  you  will 
agree  with  me  also  in  saying  that  method  should  be  held 
in  right  proportion  to  the  end.  And  further,  that  every 
man  should  put  himself  clearly  and  openly  into  some 
relation  of  responsibility.  Otherwise  what  do  we  more 
than  those  whose  indifference  or  unconcern  about  the 
public  welfare  we  are  wont  to  condemn? 

I  chanced  last  evening  to  open  Mulford's  Nation, 
and  to  read,  I  think  it  must  have  been  for  the  first  time, 
this  passage.  It  made  so  much  impression  upon  my 
own  mind  that  I  read  it  to  you. 

"Hegel  says,  the  mob  in  a  nation  is  the  force  which 
acts  without,  or  apart  from,  the  organization  of  the 
whole.  There  may  then  be  an  ignorant  or  a  learned 
mob,  a  mob  of  men  of  fashion  or  of  men  of  science,  but 
the  spirit  is  the  same,  and  in  its  severance  from  the 
organic  people  there  is  the  same  essential  vulgarity. 
This  has  an  illustration  of  singular  force  in  one  of  the 
poHtical  plays  of  Shakespeare.  When  Caius  Marcius 
turns  to  the  crowd  in  Rome,  and  denounces  them  as 
the  detached  and  disorganized  rabble,  in  whom  there 
is  nothing  of  the  organic  unity  of  the  people,  the  disdain 
of  the  Roman  is  in  the  words — 'Go,  get  you  home,  you 
fragments.'  And  those  who  in  the  conceit  of  culture, 
or  of  wealth,  or  of  higher  interests,  or  of  spiritual 
endowments,  withdraw  from  the  normal  political  action 
of  the  nation,  are  obeying  the  impulse  of  the  mob,  and 
are  as  the  very  fragments  for  whom  the  Roman  patri- 
cian felt  such  unmeasured  scorn." 

"The  normal  political  action  of  the  nation" — how 
imperative  are  its  demands  at  all  times.  How  much 
more  imperative  when  it  passes  into  great  acts  which 
either  rise  out  of  or  return  into  the  national  conscience. 


68  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

Indifference,  aloofness  at  such  a  time  makes  a  man  a 
"fragment" ;  or  to  use  the  more  vital  figure  of  our  Lord, 
"he  is  cut  off  as  a  branch  and  withers." 

Second,  let  every  conscientious  citizen  support  the 
men  who  stand  for  the  conscience  of  the  nation.  The 
nation  owes  nothing  whatever  to  any  other  kind  of  men 
from  the  beginning  of  its  history  until  now.  Adven- 
turers, soldiers  of  fortune,  ambitious  rulers,  conscience- 
less statesmen, — to  what  one  does  the  nation  stand 
indebted?  The  two  names  typical  of  the  Republic, 
commanding  the  great  crises  in  its  life,  are  Washington 
and  Lincoln — strong  men,  slow  men,  as  other  men  of 
their  time  thought  who  ran  themselves  out  of  breath  in 
their  petty  haste;  patient  men,  capable  of  enduring 
Valley  Forge  or  Gettysburg;  firm  men,  unmoved  by 
criticism  or  popular  clamor;  courageous  men,  with  the 
courage  of  faith,  able  to  see  the  end  from  the  begin- 
ning ;  self-sacrificing  men,  able  and  willing  to  lay  every 
personal  ambition,  and  every  partisan  advantage  upon 
the  altar  of  country, — these  are  the  men  who  made  this 
Republic  what  it  is,  who  established  its  reputation,  who 
gave  it  stability  at  home  and  authority  abroad.  These 
are  the  men  who  trained  this  democracy.  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  under  any  other  training,  this  nation  would 
have  held  its  peace,  and  possessed  itself  in  a  self-respect- 
ing quietness,  while  the  court  of  enquiry  was  calmly 
investigating  the  wreck  of  the  Maine? 

Let  us  honor  our  past  in  the  present,  our  dead  in  the 
living.  And  if  God  has  seen  fit  to  add  further  to  this 
succession  of  distinctly  American  leaders  in  the  person 
of  the  President  of  the  United  States,  let  us  recognize 
the  succession  and  support  him,  as  we  think  we  would 
have  supported  his  predecessors.     This  is  no  time  for 


CONSCIENCE  OF  THE  NATION         69 

criticisms,  or  comparisons,  least  of  all  is  it  the  time  to  set 
one  department  of  the  government  over  against  another. 
But  it  is  the  exact  time  for  the  American  people  to  say 
what  they  want  in  men  who  are  to  guide  them  through 
this  crisis.  It  is  the  time  to  say  whether  they  want  men 
of  like  quality  with  those  who  established  the  traditions 
of  the  Republic,  or  whether  they  want  men  by  compari- 
son less  American  in  spirit  and  in  method.  We  are  to 
be  tested,  we  must  remember,  in  this  emergency  as  well 
as  our  leaders.  And  as  the  months  go  by,  and  events 
take  place  which  will  try  us,  it  will  appear  to  others  if 
not  to  us,  whether  we  as  a  people  are  capable  of  main- 
taining our  reputation  and  of  preserving  our  traditions. 
And  finally,  let  every  conscientious  citizen  try  to 
measure  in  right  proportion  the  things  which  are  actu- 
ally called  for  in  this  exigency  of  the  Country.  The 
call  has  been  made  for  money.  It  has  been  quickly  hon- 
ored. Other  calls  of  a  like  nature  will  be  made.  These 
will  be  honored.  Taxes  will  be  imposed,  and  will  be 
borne  without  complaint.  Under  present  appearances, 
it  does  not  seem  that  the  immediate  call  for  men  will  be 
large.  As  it  is  made  known  trained  men  will  respond, 
and  if  later,  others  are  needed,  they  will  put  themselves 
at  the  service  of  the  nation.  What  more  will  be  called 
for?  The  very  thing  that  I  have  been  holding  up 
before  you  this  morning,  the  conscience  of  the 
nation.  Moral  integrity,  moral  purpose,  moral  re- 
straint, these  are  the  necessities  of  the  hour.  These  are 
the  difficult  necessities.  It  is  easier  to  get  money,  or 
ships,  or  men,  than  to  get  sufficient  conscience  for  this 
war.  The  moment  war  is  declared  the  first  thing  to  do 
is  to  send  some  men  to  the  rear,  all  mere  adventurers, 
all  partisans,  all  traders  on  their  country's  fortune  or 


70  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

honor,  all  seekers  after  their  own  things  and  not  the 
tilings  that  be  of  the  nation.  Let  it  be  understood  at  the 
outset  that  this  war  is  none  of  their  business. 

What !  is  this  war  to  be  used  to  any  advantage  of  an 
individual,  or  of  a  party,  or  even  of  the  nation,  to  help 
any  man's  business,  to  sell  newspapers,  to  quicken 
special  industries,  to  affect  the  price  of  stocks,  to  main- 
tain the  Republican  party  in  power,  or  to  give  the 
Democratic  party  a  better  chance,  to  add  to  the  prestige 
of  army  or  navy,  to  annex  Cuba  to  the  United  States? 
There  is  but  one  answer  to  these  questions,  which  will 
surely  arise,  each  and  all  of  them.  Commit  this  war  to 
the  conscience  of  the  nation.  There  is  where  it  belongs, 
if  true  to  its  professed  object.  This  war  has  one,  and 
but  one  professed  and  acknowledged  justification.  If 
it  can  be  held  to  that  purpose — and  only  the  conscience 
of  the  nation  can  hold  it  there — it  will  leave  us  a  self- 
respecting  nation.  It  may  entitle  us  to  the  greater 
respect  of  the  nations.  Some  nations  perchance  may 
say  of  us,  as  it  was  foretold  should  be  said  of  Israel,  if 
true  to  its  traditions — "Surely,  this  great  nation  is  a 
wise  and  understanding  people."  "Open  the  gates,  that 
the  righteous  nation,  which  keepeth  truth,  may  enter  in." 


VI 

THE  REVIVAL  OF  CIVIC  PRIDE  IN  THE 
COMMONWEALTH 

Address  at  Dedication  of  State  Library  Building,  Concord,  N.  H.  , 

January  8,  1895 

I  ask  at  once  in  your  presence,  as  you  are  assembled 
to  dedicate  this  building  to  the  uses  of  the  State  of  New 
Hampshire,  How  shall  we  ensure  to  the  state  or  com- 
monwealth a  rightful  part  in  the  present  revival  of  civic 
pride  throughout  the  country? 

The  chief  effect  of  that  revival,  as  we  are  now  con- 
scious of  it,  is  the  glorious  assurance  of  nationality. 
"We  the  people"  have  at  last  become  the  nation,  and  we 
know  it.  It  has  not  been  an  easy  matter  for  us  to  reach 
this  supreme  consciousness.  As  late  as  1811  Josiah 
Quincy  made  this  confession  from  his  seat  in  congress: 
"Sir,  I  confess  it,  the  first  public  love  of  my  heart  is  the 
Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts.  There  is  my  fire- 
side; there  are  the  tombs  of  my  ancestors."  That  was 
the  utterance,  not  of  South  Carolina,  but  of  Massachu- 
setts, in  the  national  house  of  representatives,  twenty- 
three  years  after  the  adoption  of  the  constitution.  No 
Massachusetts  man,  no  man,  I  trust,  from  any  state, 
would  utter  that  sentiment  now.  The  events  of  our 
generation,  in  which  some  of  you  were  actors,  have 
wrought  a  mighty  change  in  our  opinions  and  in  our 
feelings.  The  nation  sits  enthroned  today  in  the  hearts 
of  the  people.  The  most  interesting  and  the  most 
inspiring  expression  of  civic  pride  is  this  calm  but  proud 


72  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

consciousness  of  nationality.  We  are  beginning  to  real- 
ize to  ourselves  the  great  conception  of  Milton:  "Not 
many  sovereignties  united  in  one  commonwealth,  but 
many  commonwealths  in  one  united  and  entrusted  sov- 
ereignty." 

The  present  revival  of  civic  pride  may  be  seen  at 
work,  if  not  equally,  yet  with  marked  effect,  at  the  other 
extreme  of  our  political  organization,  in  the  municipal- 
ity. Next  to  the  national  feeling,  the  municipal  feeling 
is  at  present  the  strongest.  Something  of  this  feeling 
is  due  of  course  to  the  recognized  peril  of  the  cities.  It 
is  in  many  cases  the  sense  of  danger  which  tests  the 
depth  of  our  affection,  which  may  discover  the  fact  itself 
to  us.  Probably  no  city  in  the  country  has  had,  in  pro- 
portion to  its  importance,  less  municipal  pride  than  the 
city  of  New  York,  but  he  must  be  less  than  an  ahen, 
whether  resident  for  longer  or  shorter  time,  who  does 
not  now  feel  the  responsibility  of  citizenship.  The  sense 
of  responsibility,  however,  is  not  the  chief  sign  of  munic- 
ipal pride,  but  rather  the  increasing  sense  of  oppor- 
tunity. The  city  is  beginning  to  stand  for  more  than 
size,  it  represents  every  possible  advance  and  improve- 
ment. The  period  of  silly  rivalries  and  competitions 
about  numbers  has  been  out-grown,  and  account  is  being 
taken  of  solid  and  substantial  growths.  Men  are  seek- 
ing to  be  identified  not  only  in  personal  interest,  but 
in  reputation  and  name,  with  their  respective  cities. 
Schools,  libraries,  museums,  parks,  bearing  the  names 
of  individual  donors,  are  the  visible  evidence  of  an 
enlarged  municipal  enthusiasm,  while  the  surer  though 
less  conspicuous  sign  is  found  in  the  fact  that  here  and 
there  a  citizen  of  acknowledged  capacity  is  willing  to 
forego  further  gains  in  his  business  or  profession,  that 


REVIVAL  OF  CIVIC  PRIDE  73 

he  may  answer  in  person  the  demand  for  honest  and 
capable  government.  The  ardent  imagination  of  Mr. 
Depew  interprets  a  popular  tendency,  when  he  predicts 
that  the  second  office  in  the  United  States  will  soon  be 
that  of  mayor  of  greater  New  York. 

Now  in  this  revival  of  civic  pride,  so  manifestly 
affecting  the  nation  and  the  city,  what  of  the  state,  the 
old  commonwealth,  the  original  substance  and  life  out  of 
which  in  due  time  the  nation  was  born,  and  from  whose 
permanent  and  abounding  vitality  cities  are  now  spring- 
ing forth?  Evidently  the  day  for  the  reassertion  of 
rights  once  surrendered  is  forever  past,  and  no 
encroachment  upon  the  interests  of  the  growing  com- 
munities may  be  allowed.  But  the  commonwealth 
remains,  worthy  of  an  equal  place  in  the  honorable  pride 
of  its  citizens  with  that  held  by  the  nation  or  a  city. 

And  among  us  the  opportunity,  if  not  the  necessity, 
for  some  very  practical  expression  of  this  pride  of  state, 
is  apparent  in  the  fact  that  the  influence  of  New  Hamp- 
shire is  not  overshadowed  by  that  of  a  great  municipal- 
ity within  its  borders.  With  us  the  state  is  not  in  bond- 
age to  the  city,  nor  subordinate  to  it.  Neither  can  the 
state  throw  off  its  responsibility  to  provide  for  the 
higher  wants  of  its  citizens  upon  any  one  locality, 
equipped  with  all  the  modern  appliances  of  progress — 
the  library,  the  museum,  the  university.  In  few  states 
of  the  nation  are  the  resources  so  variously,  if  not 
equally,  distributed  as  in  our  own.  Every  section  of  it, 
east  and  west,  south  and  north,  has  a  share  in  its  history. 
The  whole  state  had  its  pre-existence  in  the  province. 
And  under  the  incoming  of  the  later  industries,  and  the 
consequent  re-distribution  of  population,  the  ancient 
equality  has  not  been  altogether  destroyed.     It  is  the 


74  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

state,  not  a  city,  which  still  offers  the  great  attraction 
to  visitors  from  far  and  near.  It  is  the  state,  not  any 
one  localit}^  which  holds  undeveloped  resources  out  of 
which  new  industries  may  spring  for  the  support  of  new 
populations.  It  is  the  state  at  large  which  shelters  the 
great  schools,  which  send  out  the  sons  of  New  Hamp- 
shire into  other  states,  and  which  draw  to  their  training 
the  sons  of  all  the  states.  It  is,  in  a  word,  the  state,  the 
old  commonwealth  in  its  entirety,  not  a  city,  not  any 
localized  center,  by  means  of  which  we  are  to  maintain 
the  honor  of  our  inheritance,  and  keep  step  with  the 
march  of  the  nation. 

I  welcome  therefore,  as  a  citizen  of  New  Hampshire, 
the  occasion  on  which  we  dedicate  in  the  name  of  the 
state  another  building,  the  choicest  of  its  outward  pos- 
sessions, to  be  henceforth  one  more  visible  reminder  of 
the  real  presence  and  personaHty  of  the  commonwealth. 
I  rejoice  especially  in  the  object  of  this  building,  which 
shows  in  so  representative  a  way  the  enlarging  functions 
of  the  state.  It  answers  in  part,  by  illustration  at  least, 
the  question  with  which  I  began — How  shall  we  ensure 
to  the  commonwealth  its  share  in  the  present  revival  of 
civic  pride? 

I  go  on  then  to  speak  of  the  maintenance  of  the  state 
library  as  one  of  the  means  through  which  we  may  show 
our  pride  of  state,  and  also  one  of  the  agencies  through 
which  we  may  develop  the  higher  interests  of  the  com- 
monwealth. 

It  may  seem  almost  too  obvious  for  me  to  say,  that  it 
is  through  the  agency  of  the  library,  that  the  state  is 
best  able  to  avail  itself  of  its  own  historv.  But  the  full 
meaning  of  this  statement  does  not  appear  in  the  utter- 
ance of  it.     The  history  of  a  great  past  is  made  avail- 


REVIVAL  OF  CIVIC  PRIDE  75 

able  only  to  the  degree  in  which  it  can  be  reproduced  in 
spirit  in  the  continuous  life  of  a  people.  But  what  is 
the  continuous  life  of  a  people?  What  is  the  continu- 
ous life  of  the  people  of  New  Hampshire?  Not  the 
unbroken  succession  of  families.  Not  the  local  increase 
of  the  native  stock.  Names  once  significant  in  the 
annals  of  the  state  have  disappeared,  or  appear  only  in 
remoter  regions.  Families  of  wide  connection  and  of 
extended  influence  remain  as  remnants.  Others,  let  us 
rejoice,  survive  in  the  fullness  of  their  strength,  and 
gain  upon  their  heritage.  But  if  the  state,  if  any  one  of 
the  older  states,  were  dependent  upon  the  original  stock 
it  would  exist  as  a  fragment  of  its  former  self,  unless  it 
could  call  home  its  own.  The  state  continues  to  live 
through  the  incoming  of  the  new,  through  constant 
accessions  from  various  and  unforeseen  sources.  This 
continuity  of  life  is  absolutely  dependent  upon  the 
process  of  assimilation,  the  moral  part  of  which  lies  in 
the  power  of  the  state  to  impress  its  principles,  its  his- 
tory, itself,  upon  those  who  may  choose  to  share  its 
fortunes. 

Pardon  me  if  I  pause  to  assert  and  emphasize  the 
fact,  that  there  are  none  among  us  upon  whom  the 
great  men  and  the  great  events  of  our  history  are  mak- 
ing a  deeper  impression  than  upon  the  more  receptive 
minds  of  the  new  population.  We  ignore  or  under- 
estimate this  fact  in  times  of  social  depression.  We  for- 
get the  philosophy  which  underlies  it.  Noble  traditions 
lose  their  power  when  held  in  too  easy  and  familiar 
possession.  Inspiration  does  not  long  abide  in  what  has 
become  to  anyone  the  commonplace.  But  the  familiar 
deed  springs  into  newness  of  life  as  often  as  it  gains  a 
fresh  hearing.     It  is  not  alone  the  new  seed,  it  is  the 


76  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

new  soil,  which  explains  the  harv^est.  Again  and  again 
have  I  watched  the  kindling  of  eager  minds,  coming 
from  other  states,  as  I  have  told  the  early  story  of  Dart- 
mouth, that  heroic  romance  in  education,  when  there 
was  nothing  in  personal  inheritance  or  personal  asso- 
ciation to  awaken  the  mind,  nothing  but  the  contact  of 
an  inspiring  history  with  a  quick  intelligence.  We 
grievously  mistake  if  we  suppose  that  history  appeals 
only  to  those  who  are  the  natural  heirs  to  the  deeds 
which  it  records.  History  never  fails  in  its  appeal  to 
men  as  they  come  and  go,  provided  the  sources  are  kept 
full  and  open,  so  that  it  may  be  rewritten  to  the  mind  of 
each  generation.  Here  is  the  advantage  in  part  of  such 
a  library  as  tliis,  in  distinction  from  the  ordinary  pri- 
vate, educational,  or  public  library.  We  build  here 
upon  foundations  already  laid  a  great  storehouse  for 
originals,  documents  of  every  sort  illustrative  of  early 
and  later  history,  dispatches,  records,  reports,  addresses, 
letters,  nothing  of  this  nature  too  small  or  too  remote  to 
be  neglected.  This  is  not  the  material  for  a  circulating 
library.  It  has  another  use  and  another  value.  Here 
is  the  material  on  deposit  which  gives  worth  to  the  cur- 
rent literature  of  its  kind.  You  open  here  a  home  and 
a  workshop  for  the  investigator,  the  scholar,  the  writer, 
the  man  who  is  to  come  hither  with  knowledge  and 
imagination,  capable  of  translating  this  ancient  life  into 
the  speech  and  life  of  today.  So  you  make  the  history 
of  the  state  available  in  ever  recurring  variety  of  form. 
For,  as  I  have  intimated,  it  is  of  the  very  genius  of  his- 
tory, that  it  should  be  written  to  an  age,  and  therefore 
its  story  be  continually  retold  with  new  motive  and  in 
new  setting.  The  age  which  sings  the  Iliad  to  the  notes 
of  camp  and  battle  and  seige,  is  not  content  till  it  has 


REVIVAL  OF  CIVIC  PRIDE  77 

sung  the  Odyssey  in  the  strains  of  love  and  home  and 
kindred,  the  arts  of  peace,  and  the  common  ways  of  men. 
Every  considerable  period  of  history  presents  various 
aspects.  We  want  to  know  them  all  to  know  the  period. 
We  want  to  know,  of  course,  the  story  of  discovery,  and 
adventure,  and  war ;  we  want  to  know  also  the  record  of 
political  struggle,  and  religious  advance,  and  educa- 
tional development,  the  growth  of  the  arts  and  indus- 
tries. There  is  the  true  source  and  reason  of  events,  the 
mere  narration  of  which  we  sometimes  think  makes  his- 
tory. History  in  its  highest  form  is  the  discovery  of 
cause  and  reason,  it  is  the  explanation  of  actions  and 
events.  We  read  the  memorable  speech  of  the 
"Defender  of  the  Constitution"  through  wliich  he  post- 
poned secession  for  thirty  years,  and  made  it  thereafter 
more  possible  to  save  the  Union.  Is  that  speech  of  Mr. 
Webster's  to  be  explained  by  his  own  greatness?  Not 
at  all.  His  father  had  made  it  before  him.  At  that 
critical  hour  when  the  convention  of  New  Hampshire 
met  to  adopt  or  reject  the  constitution,  when  its  vote  to 
adopt  would  complete  the  number  of  states  necessary 
to  form  the  Union,  when  the  conventions  of  New  York 
and  Virginia  then  in  session  were  anxiously  waiting  the 
result,  couriers  having  been  stationed  by  order  of  Ham- 
ilton to  carry  the  news  from  Concord  to  Poughkeepsie, 
and  on  to  Richmond,  in  that  convention  where  the  result 
was  in  serious  doubt.  Colonel  Webster  arose  and  uttered 
this  sentiment  (the  language  may  show  the  revision  of 
a  later  hand )  — 

"Mr.  President:  I  have  listened  to  the  arguments  for 
and  against  the  constitution.  I  am  convinced  that  such 
a  government  as  that  constitution  will  establish,  if 
adopted — a  government  acting  directly  on  the  people  of 


78  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

the  states — is  necessary  for  the  common  defense  and 
the  general  welfare.  It  is  the  only  government  which 
will  enable  us  to  pay  the  national  debt,  the  debt  which 
we  owe  for  the  Revolution,  and  which  we  are  bound  in 
honor  fully  and  fairly  to  discharge.  Sir,  I  shall  vote  for 
its  adoption." 

The  reply  to  Hayne  was  the  echo  of  the  speech  of  the 
New  Hampshire  farmer.  It  was  the  same  spirit  which 
urged  the  adoption  of  the  constitution  in  that  hour  of 
doubt,  which,  in  the  hour  of  its  danger,  rose  to  its 
defense.    The  speech  was  in  the  blood. 

The  constant  and  honorable  boast  of  New  Hampshire 
has  been  of  the  quality  of  the  men  whom  she  could  fur- 
nish to  the  nation.  One  historian  writes  of  a  given 
national  administration,  and  that  one  of  the  best,  that 
at  its  time  New  Hampshire  could  have  furnished  from 
the  number  of  her  own  public  men,  the  full  equivalent 
for  those  who  held  the  offices  of  president  and  vice-presi- 
dent, and  also  of  those  who  held  seats  in  the  cabinet. 
Grant  it.  Who  were  behind  these  men?  Who  made 
them  possible?  As  we  have  seen  in  an  illustrious  in- 
stance, such  men  do  not  explain  themselves.  You  might 
as  well  try  to  explain  the  flow  of  the  Merrimack  as  it 
sweeps  these  meadows  on  its  way  to  the  struggle  and 
toil  below,  without  pointing  to  the  hills,  as  to  attempt  to 
explain  the  public  men  of  the  state  without  going  back 
into  the  life  of  the  people.  What  we  ask,  therefore, 
first  of  all  for  this  library,  is  that  it  shall  be  made  com- 
plete to  the  last  degree  in  whatever  pertains  to  the  his- 
tory of  the  people  of  the  state ;  that  it  shall  be  a  reposi- 
tory, not  only  for  public  documents,  but  also  for  private 
papers;  that  it  shall  reach  out  after  all  facts,  however 
transmitted,  which  have  a  bearing  on  vital  questions  of 


REVIVAL  OF  CIVIC  PRIDE  79 

state  interest ;  and  that  it  shall  be  able  to  trace  the  great 
events  in  which  the  state  has  had  a  part,  and  the  great 
men  whom  it  has  sent  forth,  back  to  the  causes  which 
determined  or  produced  them.  What  we  want,  in  a 
word,  is  a  library  which  shall  explain  New  Hampshire. 

A  more  direct,  if  not  equally  obvious,  use  of  the 
library  for  the  advancement  of  the  state,  is  to  be  seen  in 
the  very  great  aid  which  it  offers  toward  intelligent  leg- 
islation, the  interpretation  of  the  laws,  and  general 
administration.  Doubtless  we  have  in  this  use  of  the 
library  the  chief  intent  of  its  founders.  The  statute 
under  which  the  library  is  administered  provides  first 
that  it  shall  be  "for  the  use  of  the  governor  and  council, 
officers  of  the  state  government,  the  legislature  and  the 
clerks  thereof,  the  judges  of  the  supreme  court,  and 
such  other  persons  as  the  trustees  may  determine" ;  and 
afterward  in  fixing  the  duties  of  the  trustees,  it  pre- 
scribes that  "they  shall  procure  for  the  library  full  sets 
of  the  statutes  and  law  reports  of  the  United  States, 
and  of  the  several  states;  histories,  including  those  of 
the  counties  and  towns  of  the  state  whenever  published ; 
maps,  charts,  works  on  agriculture,  political  economy, 
the  arts  and  natural  sciences,  copies  of  state  papers  and 
publications  relating  to  the  material,  social,  and  reli- 
gious conditions  of  the  people,  or  bearing  upon  the  busi- 
ness and  objects  of  legislation,  and  such  other  works  as 
they  may  deem  suitable,  works  of  fiction  excepted." 

Naturally  this  is  a  law  library  in  its  largest  intent  and 
purpose.  The  provision  which  has  been  made  in  this 
building  for  the  sessions  of  the  supreme  court  empha- 
sizes this  purpose,  as  does  also  the  mention  of  the  duty, 
first  among  those  prescribed  for  the  trustees,  "of  pro- 
curing for  the  library  full  sets  of  the  statutes  and  law 


80  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

reports  of  the  United  States  and  of  the  several  states." 
It  is  a  matter  of  congratulation,  that  in  the  comparison 
which  this  array  of  statutes  and  reports  invites,  the 
reports  of  New  Hampshire  hold  by  common  consent  so 
high  and  honorable  a  place.  Indeed  this  was  to  have 
been  expected,  if  we  recall  the  names,  which,  in  the 
quaint  language  of  a  former  generation,  "reflected  the 
gladsome  light  of  jurisprudence," — the  names  of 
Weare,  Bartlett,  Langdon,  Livermore,  Woodbury, 
Bell,  Smith,  Parker,  Perley,  and  so  many  of  their  asso- 
ciates, an  honor  one  and  all  to  any  bench. 

It  does  not  fall  to  my  lot  to  speak  of  the  relation  of 
the  state  to  its  bench  or  courts,  but  without  venturing 
beyond  the  province  of  a  layman,  I  may  fitly  call  atten- 
tion to  the  present  demand  for  the  more  general  knowl- 
edge of  what  may  be  termed  the  hterature  of  the  law, 
the  knowledge  of  statutes  and  reports,  as  indispensable 
to  wise  legislation.  As  any  one  can  see,  the  relation 
between  the  federal  and  state  authority  is  becoming 
at  certain  points  complicated  and  sensitive.  No  past 
political  conditions  have  ever  involved  issues  of  greater 
perplexity  than  those  involved  in  present  economic  and 
industrial  conditions.  Decisions  are  rendered  almost 
every  month  by  some  one  of  the  United  States  courts 
affecting  the  interests  of  corporations  and  of  labor  in 
every  state  of  the  Union.  Not  long  since,  in  a  western 
state,  I  chanced  to  listen  to  an  after-dinner  speech  from 
one  of  the  younger  judges  of  the  United  States  court 
of  appeals,  in  which,  though  a  man  of  remarkable  wit, 
he  put  aside  at  once  the  pleasantries  of  the  hour  that  he 
might  impress  upon  the  company  the  very  great  seri- 
ousness of  the  questions  upon  which  the  federal  courts 
were    called    to    pass    in    determining    the    rights    of 


REVIVAL  OF  CIVIC  PRIDE  81 

property  and  the  rights  of  sei-vice.  The  discussion  was 
as  earnest  as  an  utterance  of  the  pulpit.  And  between 
the  states  the  lack  of  uniformity  in  the  very  principles  of 
legislation  is  becoming  in  some  cases  not  only  serious 
but  grievous.  One  has  but  to  refer  in  illustration  to 
subjects  so  widely  removed  from  one  another  as  taxa- 
tion and  divorce.  At  such  a  time  the  value  of  a  state 
library  which  gives  ready  and  complete  information  on 
all  points  of  current  decisions  and  statute  law  cannot 
be  overestimated.  A  library  with  these  facilities  seems 
as  much  a  part  of  the  equipment  of  the  legislature  as 
of  the  courts.  It  has  a  distinct  moral  influence. 
Through  its  system  of  exchange  it  keeps  open  com- 
munication between  the  states.  It  enables  us  to  realize 
the  closeness  of  the  fellowship  of  the  body  politic.  "If 
one  member  suffers,  all  the  members  suffer  with  it." 

The  statute,  however,  which  wisely  gives  precedence 
to  law  in  the  furnishing  of  the  library,  makes  generous 
provision  for  other  subjects  which  have  to  do  with  the 
material  and  social  development  of  the  state.  I  see  no 
reason  why  this  provision  should  not  be  fulfilled,  as  far 
as  the  annual  appropriations  may  allow.  The  teachers 
of  the  state  have  already  asked  that  a  department  of 
pedagogy  may  be  opened.  Why  should  not  requests 
be  urged  from  other  sources?  V^hy,  for  example, 
should  not  the  library  be  made  tributary  to  our  great 
industries?  Where  should  one  interested  in  any  one  of 
these  expect  to  look  for  careful  information  except  to 
such  a  library  as  this  ?  Where  else  within  the  state  could 
one  hope  to  find  it?  Technical  departments  are  to  be 
found  to  a  certain  extent  in  our  educational  libraries; 
and  here  and  there  the  public  library  of  a  city  may  pro- 
vide some  books  of  this  character  on  a  given  industry. 


82  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

But  to  what  source  ought  one  to  turn  for  such  discrim- 
inating and  well-directed  information  on  the  industries 
of  the  state  as  to  the  state  library?  Here  again  I  must 
remind  you  that  we  have  no  great  center  to  which  we 
can  look  except  to  the  state  itself.  And  in  so  far  as  the 
state  may  see  fit  to  answer  this  demand,  let  me  suggest 
that  whenever  any  department  of  this  kind  is  set  up,  the 
fact  be  made  known,  and  a  classified  list  of  the  books 
in  the  department  be  published  and  circulated.  Gradu- 
ally and  without  undue  expense,  the  state  library  may 
become  an  authority  upon  many  matters  of  industrial 
and  economic  value. 

Allow  me  the  further  suggestion  that  such  works  as 
have  to  do  most  immediately  with  the  resources  of  the 
state  be  duplicated,  and  distributed  at  convenient  cen- 
ters, usually  in  connection  with  a  town  library,  but 
under  the  control  of  the  state  library.  Such  a  distribu- 
tion would  create  among  our  citizens  a  habit  of  thinking 
about  the  state  and  its  interests.  It  would  provide 
material  in  advance  for  our  legislators.  It  would  add 
to  that  general  intelligence  which  they  bring  to  their 
duties  a  special  knowledge  on  many  points,  which  there 
is  httle  time  to  gain  during  the  session  of  the  legislature. 
It  would  be  a  step  for  the  state  to  take  out  among  the 
people,  arousing  them  to  a  greater  interest  in  their  citi- 
zenship. Like  the  attempt  of  which  I  have  spoken  to 
make  the  library  available  for  recovering  the  history  of 
the  state,  it  would  make  the  library  more  available  for 
its  present  and  future  advancement.  A  great  library, 
of  any  kind  whatever,  is  more  than  a  repository.  That 
is  its  second  use.  The  first  and  supreme  object  is  to 
inform,  incite,  awaken.  Rightly  used,  it  is  one  of  the 
creative  agencies  of  civilization. 


REVIVAL  OF  CIVIC  PRIDE  83 

Assuming  that  the  specific  uses  of  a  state  library  are 
such  as  have  been  indicated,  namely,  to  give  the  state 
the  advantage  among  its  citizens  of  its  own  history,  and 
to  aid  the  state  appropriately  in  the  making  and  inter- 
pretation of  its  laws,  and  the  development  of  its 
resources,  it  remains  for  me  to  speak  of  the  library  as 
standing  for  the  identification  of  the  state  with  the 
whole  intellectual  life  of  the  people.  In  the  language  of 
the  Governor's  inaugural,  "its  relations  to  our  educa- 
tional system  should  be  intimate."  I  take  the  apt  sug- 
gestion of  the  term.  Intimacy  of  relationship  rather 
than  domination  or  control  is  the  characteristic  of  the 
New  England  states  in  their  educational  policy.  The 
distinction  in  educational  policy  between  the  earlier  and 
later  commonwealths  is  marked.  The  later  common- 
wealths, almost  without  exception,  have  created  elab- 
orate educational  systems,  culminating  in  a  university, 
which  they  support  and  control.  The  earlier  common- 
wealths demand  popular  education  as  the  basis  of  citi- 
zenship, and  within  certain  limits  they  carefully  provide 
for  it,  but  they  seek  to  arouse  the  public  spirit  of  individ- 
ual citizens,  and  to  develop  private  munificence.  Hence 
the  peculiar  phenomena,  to  be  seen  on  every  hand,  at- 
tending the  intellectual  development  of  New  England; 
great  schools,  colleges,  and  universities  founded  and 
maintained  by  endowments ;  the  fortunes  of  private  cit- 
izens returning  in  part  to  their  native  towns  in  the  gift 
of  libraries;  voluntary  associations  springing  up  in  all 
parts  of  the  community  for  the  mutual  advantage  and 
improvement  of  their  members.  Meanwhile  the  state 
is  no  mere  onlooker,  no  indifferent  or  curious  spectator, 
its  interests  elsewhere,  itself  intent  on  other  and  lower 
ends.    The  state  is  the  watchful  guardian,  the  solicitous 


84  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

friend,  the  helper  and  patron.  Its  interest  in  whatever 
concerns  the  intellectual  life  of  the  people  is  active,  con- 
stant, and  altogether  beneficent.  The  state  acts  by  vari- 
ous methods,  now  working  through  legislation,  as  when 
it  reaffirms  more  vigorously  the  principle  of  compulsory 
intelligence,  now  entering  into  co-operation  with  the 
communities  under  its  care,  as  in  the  library  system  of 
our  own  state  and  of  Massachusetts,  now  granting 
immunities  and  privileges  to  institutions  of  learning 
when  necessary  to  their  freedom,  not  hesitating  if  need 
be  to  offer  the  helping  hand,  and  now  teaching  by  exam- 
ple, as  by  this  occasion,  and  through  the  dignity  and 
worth  of  its  standards,  broadening  the  public  thought, 
and  elevating  the  public  taste.  Such,  in  its  traditions 
and  increasing  practice,  is  the  New  England  common- 
wealth in  the  intimacy  of  its  relationship  to  the  intellec- 
tual life  of  the  people.  It  was  a  statesman,  you  recall, 
not  a  theorist,  a  mere  scholar,  or  poet,  who  said,  "The 
state  is  a  partnership  in  all  science,  a  partnership  in  all 
art,  a  partnership  in  every  virtue.  And  as  the  end  of 
such  a  partnersliip  cannot  be  obtained  in  many  genera- 
tions, it  becomes  a  partnership  not  only  between  those 
who  are  living,  but  between  those  who  are  living,  and 
those  who  are  dead,  and  those  who  are  yet  to  be  born." 

It  is  impossible  to  overestimate  the  impression  which 
the  state  is  able  to  make  upon  its  citizens  through  this 
noble  union,  this  high  partnership  in  great  interests. 
Nothing  else  can  rouse  them  to  such  a  degree  of  civic 
pride. 

The  state,  we  must  remember,  does  not  always  appear 
before  us  in  this  aspect.  So  many  of  its  functions  are 
negative  and  repressive.  It  is  through  the  state  that 
we  deal  with  crime.    Much  of  its  legislation  is  the  itera- 


REVIVAL  OF  CIVIC  PRIDE  85 

tion  of  the  commandments.  There  is  a  majesty  in  this 
aspect  of  the  state,  and  there  is  benignity.  The  other 
side  of  law  is  security,  order,  peace.  Still  it  is  not 
through  its  repressive  force  that  we  respond  most 
heartily  to  the  power  of  the  state. 

Through  other  functions  the  state  is  concerned  chiefly 
with  material  interests.  These  interests  are  vital. 
Nothing  concerns  any  man  more  than  his  daily  work, 
the  work  itself,  and  the  result  of  it  in  his  livelihood. 
But  the  actual  power  of  the  state  to  affect  business  is 
far  less  than  that  of  the  general  government.  In  every 
state  election  the  issue  broadens  into  the  field  of  national 
politics.  No  citizen  looks  exclusively  to  his  own  com- 
monwealth for  the  adjustment  of  those  conditions  which 
determine  his  work,  his  business,  or  his  investments. 

The  state  is  excluded  from  the  province  of  religion. 
The  experiment  once  tried  in  that  direction  will  never 
be  repeated.  The  one  reservation  which  the  individual 
citizen  has  made  for  himself  for  all  time  is  liberty  of 
conscience,  in  every  possible  expression  of  it,  and  in  all 
its  results. 

The  open  field  into  which  the  state  may  enter,  where 
it  may  exercise  unhindered  its  higher  ministry,  where 
it  may  illustrate  this  noble  partnership,  is  education,  the 
development  of  the  intellectual,  and,  through  that,  of 
the  moral  life  of  the  people.  The  essential  contribution 
of  New  Hampshire,  as  we  fondly  believe,  to  the  life  of 
the  nation,  has  been  mental  character,  not  simply  brain 
power,  not  simply  conscience,  but  character  informed 
and  developed  by  the  trained  mind.  That  has  been  the 
ground  of  our  boasting.  We  have  no  other  to  compare 
with  it.  It  can  have  no  equivalent  and  no  substitute. 
We  may  cherish  local  associations  in  the  state  with  a 


86  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

sentiment  which  will  idealize  even  its  rugged  and  barren 
hills.  We  may  respect  the  authority  of  the  state  as  it 
guards  our  rights,  and  protects  our  interests.  But  the 
one  source  of  civic  pride  for  the  state  is  the  maintenance 
of  its  extraordinary  intellectual  and  moral  history.  It 
is  the  remembrance  of  that,  and  that  above  all  else, 
which  quickens  the  blood,  and  stirs  the  spirit  within  us. 
May  this  day  which  is  set  apart  in  recognition  of  one 
of  the  higher  functions  of  the  state  recover  and  restore 
to  us  this  former  ideal.  And  accepting  the  inspiration 
and  teaching  of  the  present  hour,  may  we  understand 
better  what  is  the  abiding  duty,  and  what  the  lasting 
honor  of  the  sons  of  this  ancient  commonwealth. 


VII 

NEW  HAMPSHIRE  DURING  THE  PERIOD 
OF  INDUSTRIAL  RECONSTRUCTION 

Address  before  Members  of  the  Present  and  Past  Legislatures  of 
THE  State,  Concord,  N.  H.,  June  30,  1896 

The  state  of  New  Hampshire  has  been  during  half 
the  period  of  its  existence  under  the  government  of 
Legislatures  which  are  represented  in  this  Reunion. 
The  time  of  your  official  service,  if  reckoned  backward, 
would  cover  the  Convention  which  adopted  the  Consti- 
tution of  the  United  States,  and  gave  New  Hampshire 
its  place  among  the  original  thirteen.  The  members 
who  in  1840  took  their  seats  in  these  legislative  halls 
were  nearer  in  time  to  the  men  of  that  Convention  than 
they  were  to  many  of  those  with  whom  they  now  sit 
in  this  legislative  Reunion.  But  they  were  nearer  in 
time  only.  Social  and  economic  changes  were  even  then 
impending  which  were  to  inaugurate  a  new  period  of 
legislation,  because  they  were  to  revolutionize  so  many 
of  the  interests  of  the  state.  The  legislative  history 
of  New  Hampshire,  though  unbroken  and  continuous, 
is  therefore  separated  through  these  two  outward 
causes  into  two  nearly  equal  periods,  the  latter  of  which 
falls  within  the  lifetime  and  within  the  personal  recol- 
lection of  those  present.  I  take  note  of  the  change  in 
the  objects  and  in  the  character  of  legislation  within 
these  two  periods. 

The  legislation  of  that  earlier  period  was  character- 
ized by  a  certain  simplicity  which  could  not  be  carried 


88  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

over  into  the  new  conditions.  The  state  inherited  from 
the  Revolution  its  share  of  the  questions  which  vexed 
the  general  government,  and  local  questions  were  con- 
tinually coming  to  the  front.  But  they  were  all  of  the 
same  general  nature.  They  had  to  do  with  the  applica- 
tion of  practical  principles  already  accepted,  or  with 
the  development  of  the  state  along  lines  which  had  been 
marked  out.  New  Hampshire  grew  like  every  'New 
England  community.  We  must  not  forget,  in  these 
days  of  boasting  on  the  part  of  the  newer  states,  that 
New  Hampshire  grew  rapidly  in  its  early  days.  The 
tide  of  immigration  set  this  way.  Dr.  Belknap  esti- 
mated that  in  nineteen  years,  seven  of  which  includ- 
ed the  War  of  the  Revolution,  the  population  of  the 
state  doubled;  and  that  from  1790  to  1830  the  rate  of 
increase  varied  from  ten  to  tliirty  per  cent  for  each 
decade.  The  population  was  homogeneous.  Each  col- 
ony which  pushed  its  way  along  the  valley  of  the  Con- 
necticut was  prepared  to  set  up  a  township  the  moment 
it  took  possession  of  its  grant.  All  the  settlements  in 
the  state  were  not  characterized  by  the  same  independ- 
ence, but  they  all  conformed  to  the  same  general  plan. 
The  pursuits  of  the  people  were  practically  the  same. 
Agriculture  was  the  common  industry.  And  for  the 
greater  part  of  this  period  there  was  no  competition. 
The  agricultural  states  this  side  of  the  Mississippi  be- 
gan to  come  into  the  Union  as  late  as  1816-1820.  Not  a 
state  on  the  other  side  of  the  Mississippi,  north  of  Mis- 
souri, antedates  the  time  of  the  reconstructive  period  in 
the  history  of  New  Hampshire.  There  was  little  or  no 
intimation  of  any  change  in  the  industries  of  the  peo- 
ple. The  substitution  of  machinery  for  human  strength 
was  accepted  gradually,  as  a  convenience,  but  there  was 


INDUSTRIAL    RECONSTRUCTION      89 

no  conception  of  the  actual  manufacture  of  power  such 
as  we  now  witness  without  wonder. 

Here  then  we  have  the  local  conditions  of  that  earlier 
time, — a  homogeneous  people,  the  absence  of  compe- 
tition, and  an  apparently  fixed  industry.  The  essential 
issues  were  still  political,  engendering,  it  is  true,  some 
personal  enmities,  but  not  disturbing  the  general  wel- 
fare. Fortunate  for  the  state,  fortunate  for  us,  were 
the  conditions  of  that  early  and  formative  period,  con- 
ditions of  simple  and  natural  growth,  the  occupation  of 
new  territory,  the  extension  of  agriculture  and  trade,  the 
opening  of  highways,  the  establishment  of  schools  and 
churches ;  in  a  word,  the  ordinary  conditions  of  the  set- 
tlement and  development  of  a  country  by  a  free,  vigor- 
ous, and  intelligent  people.  Fortunate  those  years  of 
comparative  repose  for  the  application  of  the  new  polit- 
ical principles  to  a  growing  commonwealth,  and  for  the 
formation  of  the  political  character  of  its  citizens. 

These  years  were  in  striking  contrast  with  those  which 
were  to  follow,  years  which  I  have  called  those  of  recon- 
struction and  readjustment.  The  state  was  then  called 
to  pass  through  the  most  serious  test  of  its  vitality  to 
which  it  could  be  subjected.  Under  the  opening  of  rich 
and  almost  boundless  agricultural  regions,  where  the 
prodigality  of  nature  seemed  to  scorn  the  toil  of  man, 
the  values,  upon  which  New  Hampshire  rested,  gradu- 
ally lessened  until  they  were  well  nigh  lost;  and  more 
disastrous  still,  the  people  themselves  sent  their  sons 
and  daughters  after  the  new  wealth.  The  abandonment 
of  the  old  farms  began.  Then  came  in  the  new  indus- 
tries to  which  the  people  were  unaccustomed,  and  in 
which  they  could  find  no  large  place  for  employment, 
industries  bringing  in  their  own  population,  strange  in 


90  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

language,  customs,  and  religion.  Then  came  the  neces- 
sary redistribution  of  the  old  population,  the  formation 
of  new  centers,  and  the  consequent  withdrawal  in  many 
cases  from  the  old.  And  in  the  midst  of  all  this  confu- 
sion and  change  came  the  sudden  and  sharp  call  to  arms, 
the  summons  to  the  state  to  give  its  men  and  its  treasure 
to  save  the  nation. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  in  this  long  season 
of  uncertainty  and  confusion,  and  in  many  respects  of 
discouragement,  some  lost  heart  and  accepted  the  super- 
ficial verdict  of  decay  and  decline.  The  changes  were 
such  as  to  appeal  to  sentiment.  There  were  those  who 
could  not  find,  nor  be  expected  to  find,  in  the  prosperity 
of  the  rising  industrial  city  an  equivalent  to  the 
departed  glory  of  the  old  shire  town  with  its  stately 
homes  and  its  gentle  folk.  The  boy  who  had  left  the 
hill  farm  of  his  fathers,  returning  rich  in  western  acres 
or  city  lots,  could  not  be  expected  to  look  without  emo- 
tion u23on  the  deserted  homestead,  even  though  his  steps 
had  been  the  first  to  leave  the  trodden  ways.  Nor  could 
the  traveler  from  distant  states,  without  local  traditions 
or  associations,  be  expected  to  enjoy  the  scenery  which 
had  drawn  him  thither,  without  noting  here  and  there 
on  the  landscape  the  spire  of  an  unused  church,  and 
moralizing  on  the  scene  in  the  columns  of  his  city  paper. 
All  this  was  to  have  been  expected.  It  was  inevitable. 
But,  as  you  well  know,  there  is  another  and  very  dif- 
ferent aspect  of  this  situation.  The  story  of  these  past 
years  when  read  aright  has  not  been  a  story  of  decay 
and  decline,  but  of  reconstruction  and  readjustment. 
To  my  thought,  the  insight,  the  energy,  the  persever- 
ance, the  courage,  the  faith,  with  which  the  result  has 
been  achieved,  have  been  magnificent.     It  has  been  like 


INDUSTRIAL    RECONSTRUCTION      91 

the  change  of  front  in  the  full  tide  of  battle,  this  read- 
justment of  the  old  state  to  its  new  duties  and  oppor- 
tunities, in  the  midst  of  the  turmoil  and  competition 
of  the  time,  without  lowering  its  educational  or  moral 
standard,  or  failing  to  honor  a  single  demand  of  the 
national  government  in  the  hour  of  its  peril.  The  story- 
has  been  told  in  part  in  the  journals  of  successive  Legis- 
latures, in  the  language  of  debate  and  statute.  I  retell 
it  in  your  hearing — because  it  is  worthy  of  being  re- 
told— in  a  language  with  which  I  am  more  familiar,  the 
language  of  that  social  and  economic  science  which  takes 
careful  note  of  all  changes  affecting  the  hfe  of  commu- 
nities and  states  as  they  occur,  and  which  seeks  to  inter- 
pret them  in  the  light  of  the  accomplished  fact. 

The  fundamental  problem  which  presented  itself  to 
the  people  of  New  Hampshire  at  the  opening  of  the 
period  of  reconstruction  was  the  industrial  problem.  It 
has  continued  to  be  the  fundamental  problem  through- 
out the  entire  period.  In  1840  New  Hampshire  was 
almost  entirely  an  agricultural  state;  but  it  had  then 
become  evident  that  the  farmer  of  New  Hampshire 
could  not  compete  with  the  farmer  of  Illinois.  If  the 
rich  lands  of  the  nearer  west  had  not  been  oj)ened,  and 
canals  had  not  been  cut  to  bring  their  harvests  into 
eastern  markets,  farming  in  New  Hampshire  would 
have  been  more  profitable  than  at  any  previous  time. 
The  demand  for  its  products  would  have  increased  with 
the  growth  of  population  in  this  and  neighboring  states. 
Farming  ceased  to  pay  in  proportion  to  the  general 
increase  in  the  national  wealth,  because  the  same  labor 
could  secure  far  greater  results  elsewhere.  Relatively 
the  state  could  not  maintain  itself  on  the  basis  of  agri- 
culture.    As  this  fact  became  more  and  more  apparent 


92  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

the  sense  of  discouragement  began  to  be  felt  throughout 
the  state.  How  could  it  have  been  otherwise?  What 
could  then  have  been  done  to  meet  the  situation?  No 
change  of  methods,  no  improvement  in  farming,  could 
have  availed  against  such  tremendous  odds.  Before 
agriculture  could  resume  its  place  new  conditions  must 
come  in,  new  markets  near  at  hand,  ready  transporta- 
tion, a  better  science,  and  the  economy  of  machinery. 

Meanwhile  attention  was  turned  toward  the  utiliza- 
tion of  other  resources  whose  value  was  just  beginning 
to  be  seen.  More  wealth  had  been  flowing  through  the 
state  year  by  year  in  the  waters  of  the  Merrimack  than 
had  been  taken  out  of  the  soil  on  its  banks.  The  waters 
of  Winnepesaukee  were  worth  more  by  far  than  the 
land  wliich  they  covered.  The  discovery  and  apprecia- 
tion of  this  new  wealth  in  the  unutilized  water  power 
of  the  state  brought  in  the  epoch  of  manufacturing.  It 
was  the  material  salvation  of  the  state.  It  began  at 
once  to  stay  the  tide  of  emigration  into  other  states, 
and  to  bring  in  a  population  which  was  peculiarly  its 
own.  It  has  been  the  increasing  source  of  prosperity. 
The  gross  value  of  the  product  of  our  manufacturing 
industries  has  risen  from  $23,000,000  in  1850  to  $85,- 
000,000  in  1890.  The  number  of  workmen  employed 
has  increased  within  the  same  time  from  27,000  to 
63,000,  and  the  annual  wages  paid  from  $6,000,000  to 
$24,000,000.  I  think  it  a  reasonable  estimate  to  put 
the  number  of  people  who  are  the  immediate  outgro^vth 
of  the  manufacturing  interest  at  100,000,  about  one- 
fourth  of  the  entire  population  of  the  state. 

Has  New  Hampshire  then  become  a  manufacturing 
state,  relegating  agriculture  to  a  secondary  place?  By 
no  means.     The  capital  employed  in  farming  is  still 


INDUSTRIAL    RECONSTRUCTION      93 

twice  as  great  as  that  employed  in  manufacturing.  The 
value  of  farms  alone,  without  buildings,  implements  or 
stock,  is  nearly  equal  to  the  capital  of  the  manufactur- 
ing corporations.  The  only  disadvantage  in  the  con- 
trast lies  in  the  fact  that  whereas  the  value  of  manufac- 
turing property  has  steadily  increased,  the  value  of 
farm  property  has  been  fluctuating.  It  was  higher  in 
1870  than  it  was  in  1850  or  1860,  and  higher  than  it  is 
now.  The  total  number  of  farms  has  decreased  slightly 
within  the  past  decade,  and  also  the  total  amount  of 
acreage  under  improvement.  But  this  fact  signifies 
very  little.  It  appears  equally  in  Illinois,  and  to  a  far 
greater  extent  in  New  York.  The  question  of  aban- 
doned farms,  of  which  so  much  account  is  made  from 
time  to  time  in  the  daily  prints,  is  a  very  insignificant 
question.  An  abandoned  farm  may  be,  as  has  been 
said,  a  sign  of  progress.  Some  farms  now  deserted 
ought  never  to  have  been  cultivated:  others  have  been 
given  over  to  gain  the  greater  profit  from  concentra- 
tion. A  very  suggestive  comparison  has  been  made 
by  the  Secretary  of  the  State  Board  of  Agriculture 
in  a  report  prepared  for  the  United  States  Depart- 
ment. 

"Along  the  banks  of  small  streams,"  he  says,  "in  all 
sections  of  New  England  may  be  found  evidences  of 
the  existence,  at  some  former  time,  of  shops  and  fac- 
tories devoted  to  various  purposes.  Later,  the  improve- 
ment in  manufacturing  methods  had  a  tendency  to  cen- 
tralize power  and  capital,  supplanting  hand  labor  with 
machinery,  and  hundreds  of  mill  sites  were  abandoned 
for  cheaper  production  and  better  paid  labor  in  large 
establishments.  No  one  claimed  any  decline  in  manu- 
facturing  by   reason    of   this    change.     Many   farms 


94  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

located  on  rugged  hill-tops  and  in  remote  sections, 
which  under  the  former  system  of  agriculture  and  style 
of  living  yielded  their  owners  satisfactory  returns,  have 
been  abandoned  so  far  as  cultivation  is  concerned. 
Although  they  met  the  requirements  of  their  time,  they 
could  not  be  utilized  by  the  advanced  system  of  agri- 
culture, and  were  wisely  turned  to  pasture,  or  devoted 
to  the  growth  of  wood  and  lumber.  This  transforma- 
tion was  as  significant  of  progress  as  in  the  case  of 
shops  and  factories." 

The  real  question  is.  Can  farming  in  New  Hampshire 
now  be  made  to  pay,  quite  irrespective  of  the  past  ?  The 
old  conditions  which,  as  we  saw,  made  it  such  discourag- 
ing business,  have  given  place  to  conditions  which  are 
certainly  different  and  more  helpful.  The  western 
farmer  is  now  the  greatest  sufferer  from  competition. 
He  must  use  up  a  large  portion  of  his  crop  to  get  the 
remainder  to  the  market.  Meanwhile  the  market  has 
been  coming  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  door  of  the  New 
Hampshire  farmer.  Cities  and  towns  have  been  spring- 
ing uf)  in  close  proximity  to  many  of  the  better  farm- 
ing sections.  From  forty  to  fifty  thousand  people  take 
possession  of  the  state  every  summer,  whose  wants  must 
be  met,  and  who  leave  an  estimated  return  of  from  six 
to  eight  milHons  of  dollars.  The  raih'oads  have  opened 
routes  into  various  parts  of  the  state  for  the  quick  deliv- 
ery of  milk  and  fruits.  And  as  a  safeguard  against 
extortion  from  the  shipper,  the  farmer  has  his  recourse 
to  the  creamery  or  the  canning  factory.  Men  of  means 
and  leisure  have  been  meanwhile  buying  farms  not  for 
making  money,  but  for  improving  stock  and  for  trying 
experiments,  all  of  which,  whether  favorable  or  unfa- 
vorable, are  in  the  interest  of  the  farmer.     And  the 


INDUSTRIAL    RECONSTRUCTION      95 

state  and  national  governments  maintain  schools  and 
experiment  stations  to  the  same  end. 

I  do  not  presume  to  invade  the  province  of  my  friend, 
the  President  of  the  New  Hampshire  College  of  Agri- 
culture and  the  Mechanic  Arts,  nor  of  the  vigorous  and 
alert  Secretary  of  the  Board  of  Agriculture,  but  as  a 
student  of  the  economic  situation,  I  cannot  overlook  nor 
fail  to  take  account  of  the  changed  conditions  which 
affect  the  agricultural  interests  of  the  state.  I  do  not 
affirm  that  all  farming  now  pays,  but  the  conditions, 
which  at  first  operated  to  take  away  the  profit,  have 
been  so  far  reversed  that  they  are  now  working  toward 
a  profit.  Whether  they  have  reached  that  point,  it  is 
not  for  me  to  say,  but  the  outlook  is  manifestly  far  dif- 
ferent from  what  it  was  a  generation  ago.  Ex-Gov- 
ernor Goodell  has  stated  on  the  authority  of  the  State 
Treasurer  that  farming  towns  have  much  larger  depos- 
its per  capita  in  savings  banks  than  the  cities  and  larger 
towns  where  manufacturing  is  carried  on.  Selecting 
towns  in  various  parts  of  the  state,  he  instances  West- 
moreland with  $309.27  per  capita,  a  purely  agricul- 
tural town,  and  Rye,  with  $415.26  per  capita,  a  summer 
resort,  against  Manchester  with  $176.99  per  capita,  and 
Nashua  with  $206.36  per  capita.  I  grant  the  insuf- 
ficiency of  statistics  to  meet  any  large  situation.  I 
understand  the  contention  that  a  bank  may  not  be  the 
most  profitable  place  in  which  a  farmer  may  invest  his 
surplus  earnings,  but  these  and  like  facts  are  beginning 
to  go  on  record  to  show  that  some  kinds  of  farming  do 
pay.  There  are  sections  of  the  state  which  show  it  in 
improved  land,  and  stock,  and  barns  and  houses.  The 
day  of  farming  adapted  to  New  England,  intensive 
rather  than  extensive,  with  small  acreage,  high  culture. 


96  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

and  quick  markets,  is  at  hand,  if  it  has  not  fully 
arrived. 

The  industrial  problem  of  New  Hampshire,  which 
fifty  years  ago  seemed  bej^ond  solution,  has,  I  believe, 
been  solved.  The  state  knows  its  resources  and  how 
to  handle  them.  The  policy  of  legislation  has  on  the 
whole  been  broad,  progressive,  and  intelligent.  The 
industries  of  the  state  have  been  organized  and  reorgan- 
ized, until  at  last  a  New  Hampshire  lad  instead  of  ask- 
ing, where  shall  I  go  to  earn  a  livelihood,  may  ask  him- 
self, why  shall  I  not  stay  at  home? 

The  industrial  problem  has  been  attended,  during 
these  years,  by  another  of  equal  significance,  namely, 
the  social  problem.  By  the  social  problem  I  mean  espe- 
cially the  question  of  the  redistribution  of  the  old  pop- 
ulation and  the  assimilation  of  the  new.  New  Hamp- 
shire is  no  longer  a  state  of  scattered  hamlets,  neither 
is  it  a  state  of  cities.  It  has  become  rather  a  state  of 
compact,  well  equipped,  and  prosperous  towns  and  vil- 
lages. I  doubt  if  our  citizens  have  taken  note  of  the 
extent  of  this  growth,  or  have  estimated  its  social  sig- 
nificance. The  national  census  of  1890  classifies  the 
towns  of  the  country  in  three  divisions:  those  over 
25,000;  those  between  25,000  and  2,500;  and  those 
between  2,500  and  1,000.  Of  the  first  class  New 
Hampshire  has  but  one.  Of  the  second  26,  but  of  the 
third  class  the  state  has  far  more  than  its  natural  pro- 
portion, showing  its  advance  over  many  of  the  states 
still  made  up  so  largely  of  scattered  and  practically 
unorganized  conmiunities.  The  whole  number  of 
towns  in  the  United  States,  ranging  from  1,000  to 
2,500,  is  2,060.  The  proportion  of  New  Hampshire 
should  be  47.     The  state  actually  has  72,  25  more  than 


INDUSTRIAL    RECONSTRUCTION      97 

its  proportion,  and  a  gain  of  14  since  1850.  Add  to 
these  the  26  in  the  second  class,  and  you  have  nearly 
three-fourths  of  the  population  of  the  State  organized 
into  about  one  hundred  communities,  illustrating  under 
different  degrees  of  progress  the  same  social  aim  and 
the  same  social  conditions.  And  if  you  withdraw  Man- 
chester with  its  44,000  from  the  remainder,  you  have 
left  but  about  one-fifth  of  the  population  of  the  state 
which  may  not  be  said  to  be  thus  organized.  There  is 
a  difference,  as  I  have  intimated,  in  the  material  prog- 
ress of  these  communities,  but  nearly  all  are  aiming  at 
the  same  general  result,  a  result  which  as  it  has  been 
reached  by  the  greater  part  may  be  expressed  in  the 
following  terms:  good  sanitary  conditions,  including 
pure  water,  and  drainage;  streets  and  sidewalks  prop- 
erly laid  out,  and  properly  shaded  and  lighted;  a  well 
graded  system  of  schools  culminating  in  a  high  school 
or  academy ;  a  public  library  supported  by  the  town  or 
by  private  generosity;  churches  under  voluntary  sup- 
port; frequent  and  easy  communication  with  the  outer 
world;  and  in  general,  those  social  advantages  which 
ought  to  correspond  with  the  development  of  such  com- 
munities in  the  art  of  self-government. 

I  pause  for  the  moment  to  dwell  upon  the  social 
advance  which  is  indicated  by  this  redistribution  of  the 
population,  which  has  been  and  is  still  going  on  in  our 
state.  The  old  political  unit  in  New  England  was  the 
township.  So  long  as  that  remained  the  practical 
working  unit,  or  better,  so  long  as  the  idea  which  it 
involved  was  in  the  supremacy,  a  large  degree  of  social 
unity  was  retained.  The  incoming  of  the  city,  the  great 
city,  into  our  American  civilization,  broke  up  that 
unity.     It  became  the  one  center  in  place  of  many.     It 


98  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

drew  to  itself  from  all  sources,  and  made  no  returns, 
corresponding  to  its  drafts.  It  changed  habits  and  it 
changed  ideals.  A  great  city  is  essentially  and  neces- 
sarily undemocratic.  It  is  the  home  of  political  irre- 
sponsibility and  of  social  indifference.  Democracy 
rests  upon  a  certain  degree  of  personal  responsibility 
and  upon  a  certain  degree  of  social  equality.  In  a 
great  city  you  reach  your  neighbor  whom  you  want  to 
know  through  a  club,  you  reach  the  neighbor  who  needs 
you  through  a  board  of  charity.  You  discharge  your 
political  obligations,  when  once  you  are  aroused  to  the 
exercise  of  them,  by  supporting  some  extemporized  or- 
ganization for  fighting  a  ring.  The  one  theory  which 
the  city,  in  idea  and  in  fact,  with  its  violent  social  con- 
trasts, and  its  indifference  to  political  issues,  does  not 
illustrate  and  never  can  be  made  to  illustrate  is  the 
equalizing  and  unifying  principle  of  the  American 
democracy.  It  has  its  inestimable  value  to  the  country 
at  large.  That  goes  without  saying.  It  opens  the 
market  to  all  talent,  it  is  the  storehouse  of  art,  it  speaks 
with  authority  on  every  question  outside  those  which  are 
political,  it  is  capable  of  a  moral  enthusiasm  which 
humanity  can  express  only  in  the  mass.  This  is  its 
value.  But  we  pay  the  price  for  it  in  terms  of  political 
concern  and  of  social  unity. 

I  count  it  therefore  of  untold  advantage,  that  through 
the  redistribution  of  population  at  the  smaller  centers, 
even  though  it  be  by  calling  in  from  the  outposts,  we 
are  recovering  those  original  political  and  social  values 
which  were  being  absorbed  and  lost  in  the  cities.  A 
village  or  town  community,  after  the  growing  New 
Hampshire  type,  thoroughly  organized,  well  equipped, 
alert  in  its  intellectual  life,  acting  directly  man  upon 


INDUSTRIAL    RECONSTRUCTION      99 

man,  and  family  upon  family,  and  all  upon  interests 
of  common  concern,  is  a  laboratory  in  which  the  prob- 
lems of  society,  state,  and  church  are  being  solved.  It 
is  coming  to  be  so  understood.  I  could  name  town  after 
town  in  the  state  which  might  be  cited  as  an  example  in 
the  art  of  good-citizenship,  where  men  have  acknowl- 
edged and  satisfied  through  time,  money,  and  interest, 
their  civic  responsibilities  and  their  social  obligations. 
A  stranger  cannot  walk  the  streets  of  such  a  town  with- 
out a  sense  of  pride  in  the  endeavor  of  its  citizens,  and 
of  assurance  from  the  manifest  result  of  their  labors. 

And  in  meeting  this  part  of  the  social  problem  much 
has  been  done  toward  the  other  part,  namely  the  assim- 
ilation of  the  new  population.  New  Hampshire  has 
suffered  far  less  than  might  have  been  expected  from 
having  had  so  considerable  a  part  of  its  population, 
probably  one-fourth,  in  a  state  of  flux,  through  the  out- 
going of  so  much  of  the  native  stock,  and  the  incoming 
of  so  many  from  new  peoples  consequent  upon  the  rise 
and  growth  of  the  factory  system.  In  1850  the  native 
population  stood  to  those  foreign  born  in  the  proportion 
of  303,577  to  14,250;  in  1890  the  proportion  stood 
304,190  native  to  72,340  foreign  born.*  The  relative 
growth  of  the  foreign  above  the  native  population  is  not 
as  large  in  reality  as  in  appearance,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  a  part  of  the  former  growth  represents  a  transient 
rather  than  a  permanent  residence  in  the  state.  Still  the 
foreign  growth  is  really  large  in  proportion  to  the  whole 
increase,  and  the  reason  why  the  process  of  assimilation 
has  been  so  satisfactory  is  due  to  two  causes:  first,  the 
distribution  of  the  new  population  at  so  many  centers ; 

♦Abstract   Seventh   Census,   page   62.      Population   Part   I,    12th  Census^ 
page  485. 


100  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

and  second,  the  completeness  of  the  process  of  assimila- 
tion with  the  earliest  immigration.  The  figures  given 
represent  the  foreign  born.  But  we  now  number 
among  our  citizens  many  of  the  second  and  third  gen- 
eration, who  with  their  Americanized  spirit  have  done 
much  to  aid  in  incorporating  and  assimilating  the  newer 
comers.  I  have  frequent  occasion  to  see  men  of  this 
type,  sons  of  an  earlier  irmnigration,  taking  their  place 
among  college  men,  and  so  identified  with  them  in 
spirit,  and  method,  and  aim,  as  to  be  well  nigh  indis- 
tinguishable. 

I  am  convinced  that  under  such  legislation  as  has 
been  taken  during  your  terms  of  service,  wise,  discrim- 
inating, and  tolerant,  under  the  wide  distribution  which 
has  taken  place  throughout  the  state,  and  under  the 
business  and  educational  opportunities  which  have  been 
so  fully  opened,  the  process  of  assimilation  of  the  new 
with  the  old  has  been  rapid  and  sure.  I  believe  that 
New  Hampshire  could  not  have  met  the  physical  or 
moral  losses  from  emigration  without  the  physical  and 
moral  gains  from  immigration.  And  in  the  long  run 
I  think  it  will  appear  that  the  state  has  not  deteriorated 
in  its  virility. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  speak  of  the  problems  which 
have  confronted  the  state,  calling  for  constant  legis- 
lative action  without  referring  to  the  educational  prob- 
lem. New  Hampshire  has  had  too  much  at  stake  in 
the  matter  of  education  to  omit  the  consideration  of 
her  schools  at  any  session  of  the  legislature.  Probably 
the  action  taken  has  not  always  been  as  liberal  and  far 
reaching  as  could  have  been  desired,  but  it  has  been  on 
the  whole  consistent  and  reasonabl}"  progressive.  If 
the  criticism  has  been  passed  that  the  little  schoolhouse 


INDUSTRIAL    RECONSTRUCTION    101 

with  its  short  terms  and  meagre  training  turned  out 
some  very  strong  men,  the  reply  has  been  made  and 
accepted,  that  it  could  not  do  it  again,  that  it  was  not 
doing  it  now,  and  that  you  might  as  well  expect  rich 
harvests  from  a  scanty  sowing,  or  the  finished  product 
from  unskilled  labor,  as  educational  results  from  totally 
inadequate  means.  Wherever  communities  have  been 
highly  organized  the  public  school  system  has  seldom 
failed  to  accomplish  its  work.  The  constant  problem 
has  been  how  to  develop  the  schools  of  unorganized  com- 
munities, how  to  reach  the  child  of  the  remote  district, 
how  to  pay  the  teacher  of  the  small  and  uncertain 
school.  Great  progress  has  been  gained  through  uni- 
fying and  grading  the  schools  of  the  different  towns 
and  cities,  through  improvements  in  school  houses  and 
school  apparatus,  and  above  all,  through  the  training 
of  teachers.  But  the  educational  demand  is  never 
satisfied.  What  seems  at  times  like  experimenting  is 
only  one  way  of  advancing. 

When  I  was  asked  to  prepare  this  address  I  was 
assured  through  the  Committee  that  such  a  service 
"would  tend  to  knit  more  closely  the  ties  which  now 
bind  the  Commonwealth  to  the  College  in  whose  pros- 
perity we  are  all  so  deeply  interested."  I  reciprocate 
your  generous  sentiment  then  expressed.  I  acknowl- 
edge in  your  presence  the  policy  of  the  state  toward  the 
higher  institutions  of  learning  which  it  shelters,  and 
especially  toward  Dartmouth  College,  in  such  immuni- 
ties and  privileges  as  have  been  granted  to  it,  in  con- 
formity with  the  usage  of  all  states  toward  like  institu- 
tions of  learning,  and  in  the  direct  aid  which  has  been 
once,  and  again,  and  again  extended  to  the  college.  In 
many  ways  the  state  and  the  college  are  inseparable — 


102  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

inseparable  in  history,  inseparable  in  fortune.  We 
have  many  of  the  greater  names,  of  which  we  boast,  in 
conmion.  We  have  given  alike  our  sons  to  other  states 
and  to  the  country.  We  are  at  work  side  by  side  under 
the  same  conditions,  and  toward  the  same  general  ends. 
If  I  had  not  believed  in  the  future  of  New  Hampshire 
I  should  not  have  accepted  the  presidency  of  Dart- 
mouth. If  one  should  decline,  the  other  would  decline — 
the  college  in  attendance,  the  state  in  reputation.  It 
is  not  proposed  that  either  shall  decline,  but  rather  that 
working  on  courageously  and  in  harmony,  state  and 
college  shall  maintain  their  noblest  traditions. 

I  have  not  yet  touched  upon  the  most  serious  matter 
which  confronted  the  people  of  the  state  during  the 
period  of  reconstruction,  a  matter  which  in  one  form 
could  not  be  reached  by  legislation,  but  which  in  another 
form  called  for  continuous  and  careful  legislative  action. 
I  refer  to  the  contribution  out  of  the  life  of  the  state 
to  the  life  of  the  nation,  first  through  emigration,  and 
second  through  the  support  of  the  war.  I  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  put  these  together  because  the  vital  drain  on 
the  state  has  on  the  whole  been  greater  through  emigra- 
tion than  from  the  war.  In  1870,  124,972  persons,  who 
were  born  in  New  Hampshire,  were  living  in  other 
states  and  territories  of  the  Union.  There  was  not  a 
single  state  or  territory  which  was  not  indebted  to  New 
Hampshire.  With  the  states  of  Maine  and  Vermont 
there  was  a  neighborly  exchange,  with  little  advantage 
on  either  side.  With  Massachusetts  it  was  different. 
New  Hampshire  gave  47,753,  and  received  but  16,510. 
To  the  states  over  the  Hudson  and  beyond,  it  was  al- 
most entirely  a  free  gift — to  New  York  9,211,  to  Ohio 
3,329,  to  Illinois  8,213,  to  Michigan  3,633,  to  Wisconsin 


INDUSTRIAL    RECONSTRUCTION    103 

4,908,  to  Iowa  5,057,  to  Minnesota  3,272,  to  Kansas 
1,158,  to  Missouri  1,384,  to  California  2,720,  with  lesser 
numbers  to  the  southern  and  far  western  states. 

This  enumeration  you  will  bear  in  mind  is  of  persons 
born  in  New  Hampshire.     No  account  has  been  made 
of  their  descendants.     But  these  figures  as  they  stand 
are  plaintive  and  eloquent.     They  tell  the  story,  better 
than  words,  of  sacrifice,  and  loss,  of  sundered  family 
ties,  and  abandoned  homes.     They  tell  the  story,  better 
than  words,  of  prosperity,  and  abundance,  of  new  homes 
and  rich  fields,  of  rising  towns  and  growing  states. 
They  explain  without  need  of  comment  the  one  retro- 
grade step  in  this  very  year  1870.     They  explain  also, 
in  part,  the  boastful  numbers  of  older  and  newer  states, 
the  steady  advance  of  the  country  in  population  from 
the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific.     They  have  a  moral  signifi- 
cance.    They  declare,  according  to  their  value  in  the 
general  contribution  of  New  England,  the  reason  why 
good  order  kept  pace  with  the  advance  of  population  in 
each  new  state,  why  school  and  church  sprang  up  along 
its  pathway,  why  freedom  was  entrenched  at  every  step 
in  justice.     They  show  how  it  was,  and  why  it  was,  that 
the  great  political  issue  which  led  up  to  the  War  was 
met  and  decided  for  liberty.      They  explain  in  no  slight 
degree  the  issue  of  the  war  itself.     The  old  Greek  found 
the  symbol  of  the  colonies  which  he  sent  out  in  his  ships 
in  the  legend  of  one  of  the  river  nymphs  of  the  mother 
country,  who,  as  she  disappeared  with  the  river  empty- 
ing into  the  sea,  reappeared  in  a  fountain  in  an  adjacent 
island.     The  genius  of  the  New  England  civilization 
might  seem  to  be  lost  as  it  mingled  with  many  men  of 
many  types,  but  when  the  time  called  in  far  off  states 
for  the  old  New  England  spirit  it  was  sure  to  reappear. 


104  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

pure  and  undefiled,  as  at  Plymouth  Rock  or  Bunker 
Hill. 

The  contribution  of  New  Hampshire,  through  emi- 
gration, to  the  population  and  wealth  and  liberty  of  the 
nation  cost,  and  cost  dearly,  and  ought  not  to  be  over- 
looked in  any  study  of  the  period  which  we  are  now 
considering.  Not  that  we  would  have  had  a  more  nig- 
gardly policy.  New  Hampshire  holds  a  stronger  place 
in  the  nation  today  by  virtue  of  her  lavish  gifts  than 
would  otherwise  have  been  possible,  but  she  has  gained 
it  at  the  price  of  local  growth  and  enlargement.  If  one 
would  estimate  her  real  and  absolute  possessions  he 
must  reckon  her  holdings  in  other  states. 

The  second  contribution  of  New  Hampshire  to  the 
life  of  the  nation  is  too  familiar,  too  sacredly  familiar, 
to  demand  extended  statement.  The  army  which  New 
Hampshire  put  into  the  field  numbered  33,427  men,  of 
whom  over  11,000  were  disabled,  and  over  5,000  left  on 
the  field.  This  is  not  the  place  to  make  mention  of 
their  deeds.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  through  them 
New  Hampshire  gained  her  rights  on  all  the  great 
battlefields  of  the  south.  And  if  her  holdings  in  the 
west  are  costly,  much  more  precious  are  her  holdings 
in  the  south,  for  which  she  paid  in  the  blood  of  her 
sons.  It  was  the  task  of  our  generation  to  create  this 
army  and  send  it  to  the  front,  to  borrow  money  on  the 
credit  of  the  state,  and  to  make  provision  through  suc- 
ceeding years  for  the  payment  of  the  debt.  How  well 
that  task  was  fulfilled  is  told  in  the  messages  of  the  war 
governors  and  their  immediate  successors,  and  in  the 
legislative  acts  which  are  on  record.  The  enormous  war 
debt,  both  of  the  state,  and  of  cities  and  towns,  has  been 
reduced  to  manageable  proportions,  and  in  the  case  of 


INDUSTRIAL    RECONSTRUCTION    105 

most  of  the  towns  entirely  wiped  out.  The  very  dec- 
ade which  saw  a  decHne  in  population  was  the  decade 
which  put  the  army  into  the  field  and  began  the  pay- 
ment of  the  debt.  It  is  when  New  Hampshire  is  put 
to  such  a  test  as  tliis,  that  one  is  able  to  take  some  meas- 
ure of  its  unfaltering  courage  and  its  unflinching 
loyalty. 

Such  are  some  of  the  social  and  economic  aspects  of 
the  history  of  the  state  during  the  period  which  I  have 
termed  the  great  period  of  reconstruction.  I  have 
not  referred  to  the  religious  aspects  of  the  period 
because  these  do  not  come  within  the  outlook  of  the 
state.  Church  and  state  are  distinct.  The  state  ful- 
fills its  great  duty  to  religion  when  it  guarantees  abso- 
lute freedom  of  worship  and  rights  of  conscience.  It  has 
been  a  part  of  the  responsibility  of  citizenship  to  main- 
tain this  duty  of  the  state,  and  to  maintain  all  other  like 
guarantees  of  freedom, — freedom  of  speech,  freedom 
of  the  press,  and  freedom  of  assemblage.  Each  new 
generation  comes  under  obligations  to  guard  all  rights 
of  person  and  property,  to  ensure  the  public  peace  and 
good  order,  and  to  defend  the  purity  of  the  ballot.  But 
new  duties  fell  to  our  immediate  predecessors  and  con- 
temporaries corresponding  to  the  social  and  economic 
changes  upon  which  we  have  dwelt.  As  the  new  indus- 
trial life  was  to  be  carried  on  chiefly  through  corpora- 
tions, it  became  incumbent  on  them  to  define  their  pow- 
ers, so  as  to  ensure  the  security  of  capital,  and  the  rights 
of  labor.  As  the  labor  of  woman  was  to  be  a  larger 
factor  in  industry  and  business,  it  became  necessary 
to  enlarge  her  rights  of  property.  As  the  population 
was  to  be  so  largely  redistributed,  towns  and  cities 
were  to  be  incorporated,  and  such  political  divisions 


106  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

provided  as  would  give  efRciency  to  local  government. 
As  the  people  were  outgrowing  previous  systems  of 
public  instruction,  the  schools  were  to  be  advanced,  and 
provision  made  for  the  higher  education.  And  above 
all,  the  task  which  none  could  have  anticipated,  or  if 
anticipated  none  would  have  dared  to  undertake,  was 
put  into  their  hands  to  transform  the  citizens  of  the 
state  into  soldiers,  and  send  them  out  in  the  name  of  a 
sovereign  state  to  defend  the  higher  sovereignty  of  the 
nation. 

And  now  that  we  have  passed  in  review  over  the 
period  of  reconstruction  and  readjustment  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  state,  and  have  seen  how  its  resources  have 
been  developed,  its  industries  re-established,  and  its 
population  reorganized,  let  us  take  advantage  of  our 
present  point  of  view,  to  make  a  brief  inventory  of  the 
wealth  of  New  Hampshire,  new  and  old. 

I  begin  with  its  inalienable  endowments,  endowments 
of  all  the  powers  of  nature,  in  whose  strength  and  con- 
stancy lie  the  source  of  our  individual  wealth  and  whose 
very  beauty  brings  us  tribute  from  afar.  The  rivers  and 
lakes  and  mountains  of  New  Hampshire  are  wealth,  as 
truly  as  if  they  were  prairies,  or  vineyards,  or  mines. 
And  they  are  inalienable.  As  they  are  not  quoted  in 
the  markets,  they  are  not  subject  to  the  markets.  Men 
may  come  and  go  with  their  transient  fortunes,  stocks 
may  rise  and  fall,  but  they  remain  the  enduring, 
unchanging,  inalienable  wealth  of  the  state  in  its  sover- 
eignty. 

I  add  to  the  inventory  the  history  of  the  state  as  a 
part  of  its  working  capital.  Natural  endowments  may 
be  made  valueless  by  the  character  of  the  people  who 
possess  them.    Values  rest  upon  institutions,  and  insti- 


INDUSTRIAL    RECONSTRUCTION     107 

tutions  are  determined  by  those  who  make  them.  Hero- 
ism at  the  beginning  of  national  existence  is  of  ines- 
timable worth,  for  it  is  a  guarantee  of  freedom.  When 
John  Langdon  gave  his  fortune  to  fit  out  a  regiment 
under  John  Stark,  "to  stay,"  as  the  record  runs,  "the 
progress  of  the  enemy  on  our  western  frontiers,"  the 
act  was  an  assurance  for  all  time  that  New  Hampshire 
would  be  made  habitable,  safe,  and  free.  No  wonder 
that  Burgoyne  wrote  in  despair  after  his  defeat,  "The 
New  Hampshire  Grants  abound  with  the  most  active 
and  rebellious  race  on  the  continent."  Rebellion  then 
meant  freedom  now,  and  law,  and  government,  and  all 
institutions  which  give  value  to  life,  and  worth  to  pros- 
perity. You  cannot  fix  the  price  of  real  estate  by  the 
richness  of  its  soil  alone,  you  fix  it  also  by  its  proximity 
to  school  and  court  and  church.  You  want  security. 
Security  has  its  origin,  if  you  go  back  far  enough,  in 
heroism. 

I  add  the  industries  of  the  State  as  now  reorganized 
and  developed.  If  anything  which  I  have  said  about 
the  present  industrial  life  of  New  Hampshire  has  any 
value,  it  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  State  has  passed  through 
the  crucial  test  of  its  industries.  Some  states  are  yet 
to  pass  through  that  test.  We  have  passed  beyond  the 
period  of  exaggerated  and  uncertain  values.  Noth- 
ing is  speculative.  We  know  our  resources,  not  in  full 
measure,  but  in  kind  and  quality.  There  is  every  rea- 
son to  believe  that  they  will  increase  in  value.  The 
country  is  now  so  far  occupied  that  resources  which  were 
passed  by  for  "easier  chances"  are  having  the  advantage 
of  the  return  of  capital  and  labor  for  their  development. 
A  second  wave  of  improvement  has  begun  to  move  over 
the  country,  and  it  starts  from  the  older  states. 


108  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

And  last,  in  this  inventory  of  wealth,  I  name  the 
people  themselves.  If  labor  is  the  ultimate  source  of 
all  wealth,  then  a  strong  and  inventive  and  willing  peo- 
ple have  the  chief  source  of  wealth  in  themselves.  It  is 
both  the  physical  and  the  spiritual  quality  in  the  pro- 
duction of  material  wealth  which  tells  in  the  final  result. 
When  a  people  has  become  thoroughly  materialized  it 
ceases  to  be  greatly  productive.  The  incentives  to  pro- 
duction cease  to  act.  The  disposition  to  enjoy  becomes 
greater  than  the  disposition  to  create.  Material  suc- 
cess depends  upon  the  ability  to  resist  materialism.  The 
sons  of  New  Hampshire  have  been  strong  in  the  power 
of  this  resistance.  That  fact  alone  explains  their  suc- 
cess. They  have  not  yet  succumbed  to  the  demoraliz- 
ing influence  of  lower  surroundings.  Wherever  they 
go  they  still  carry  themselves  as  if  they  were  breathing 
their  native  air,  and  had  sight  of  their  native  hills. 

On  occasion  of  a  debate  in  the  Lower  House  of  Con- 
gress on  the  admission  of  one  of  the  newer  states,  a 
member  from  over  the  Mississippi  said,  boasting  of  the 
richness  of  its  soil,  "Why,  sir,  if  you  should  take  it  to 
New  England  you  could  sell  it  by  the  peck  for  seed." 
The  humor  of  the  saying  is  not  lost  upon  a  New  Eng- 
lander,  least  of  all  upon  a  New  Hampshire  man,  but  he 
has  his  reply.  That,  he  says,  is  not  the  kind  of  seed 
which  New  Hampshire  has  been  in  the  habit  of  adver- 
tising in  the  markets.  Whatever  she  may  need  to  buy, 
the  kind  of  seed  that  she  has  had  to  offer  has  been  that 
divine  seed  with  which  she  has  been  planting  states  and 
peopling  the  Republic,  and  by  the  grace  of  God,  she 
proposes  to  continue  in  the  business. 


VIII 

THE    ORIGIN    OF    THE    DARTMOUTH 
COLLEGE    CASE 

Speech  in  Response  to  the  toast  "  Dartmouth  College,"  at  the  Ban- 
quet OF  the  Bar  Association  of  New  Hampshire  in  Celebration  of 
the  Centennial  of  Chief  Justice  Marshall,  Manchester,  N.  H., 
February  4,  1901 

In  1801,  the  year  in  which  Chief  Justice  Marshall 
took  his  seat,  Mr.  Webster  graduated  at  Dartmouth. 
Seventeen  years  later  the  case  of  the  "Trustees  of  Dart- 
mouth College  vs.  Woodward"  came  before  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States.  The  decision 
was  rendered  in  the  following  February.  The  college 
had  then  been  in  existence  fifty  years  and  the  Supreme 
Court  thirty  years. 

In  speaking  to  the  toast,  "Dartmouth  College,"  I 
turn  at  once  to  the  Dartmouth  College  Case  because  it 
was  through  this  case  that  the  college  came  into  direct 
relation  to  Chief  Justice  Marshall.  I  do  not  however 
assume  to  speak  in  your  presence  of  the  legal  proce- 
dure, nor  of  the  significance  of  the  judicial  decision.  I 
speak  rather  of  the  origin  of  the  case  according  to  facts 
with  which  I  may  be  more  familiar  than  some  of  you. 
How  did  it  happen  that  this  college  of  the  wilderness, 
founded  to  further  a  great  philanthropic  end,  unvexed 
by  financial  disputes,  how  did  it  happen  that  this  col- 
lege, alone  among  the  colleges  of  its  time,  found  its  way 
into  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States?    How 


110  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

did  it  happen  that  this  college  of  the  Province  of  New 
Hampshire,  which  drew  its  chartered  life  from  the  Brit- 
ish Crown,  came  to  owe  its  continued  existence  to  the 
illustrious  Virginian  whom  we  celebrate  tonight? 

The  Dartmouth  College  Case  grew  out  of  the  pecul- 
iar, the  unique  origin  of  the  college  itself.  Unlike 
most  of  the  historic  colleges  Dartmouth  originated  in 
the  consecration,  the  faith,  the  zeal,  and  the  courage  of 
one  man — Eleazar  Wheelock.  Harvard  grew  out  of 
the  public  sentiment  of  the  Massachusetts  colony.  It 
was  established  by  vote  of  the  General  Court  of  the 
colony.  The  name  which  it  bears  represents  a  most 
gracious  and  pleasing  personage,  but  the  relation  of 
John  Harvard  was  contributory  rather  than  initiative, 
consisting  in  the  gift  of  his  library  and  half  of  his  estate 
two  years  after  the  founding  of  the  college.  Yale 
grew  out  of  the  sentiment  of  the  churches  of  the 
Connecticut  colony.  Certain  ministers  came  together 
and  gave  out  of  their  libraries  books  to  start  a  college 
library.  Seventeen  years  later  the  name  of  the  college 
was  adopted  in  honor  of  Elihu  Yale,  in  consideration 
of  his  benefactions.  Eleazer  Wheelock  was  in  a  very 
distinct  and  personal  way  the  founder  of  Dartmouth 
college.  He  established  and  for  fifteen  years  main- 
tained at  Lebanon,  Connecticut,  the  Indian  school  of 
which  the  college  was  in  due  time  the  outgrowth.  He 
sent  a  pupil  of  that  school,  Samson  Occom,  to  England 
to  raise  funds,  securing  through  his  agency  subscrip- 
tions to  the  value  of  £10,000,  which  became  in  reality 
though  not  in  form  the  first  endowment  of  the  college. 
He  negotiated  with  John  Wentworth,  Governor  of  the 
province  of  New  Hampshire,  for  the  removal  of  the 
school  to  this  province,  and  by  the  aid  of  the  Governor 


ORIGIX  OF  DARTMOUTH  CASE       m 

secured  the  roval  charter.  At  sixtv  vears  of  acre  he 
transferred  the  school  to  Hanover,  moulded  it  into  a 
college  for  Enghsh  as  well  as  Indian  youths,  and  for 
the  remaining  years  of  liis  Hfe  continued  his  work  as 
founder  through  his  official  services  as  the  first  presi- 
dent. These  various  activities  are  recognized  and  in 
part  rehearsed  in  the  charter  of  the  college.  I  know  of 
no  other  charter  which  strikes  and  holds  to  the  end  the 
personal  note.  It  is  the  purpose  of  Wheelock  and  his 
already  accomplished  work  which  constitute  the  suf- 
ficient reason  for  the  charter,  and  also  for  the  special 
powers  which  it  confers  upon  liim.  cliief  among  which 
was  the  right  and  authority  to  appoint  his  inmiediate 
successor. 

"And  further  we  do  by  these  Presents  for  us  our 
Heirs  and  Successors,  create  make  constitute  nominate 
k  appoint  our  Trusty  and  well  beloved  Eleazar  Whee- 
lock Doctor  in  Divinity  the  Founder  of  said  College  to 
be  President  of  said  Dartmouth  College  and  to  have  the 
immediate  care  of  Education  &:  government  of  such 
Students  as  shall  be  admitted  into  said  Dartmouth  Col- 
lege for  instruction  &  education  and  do  -^411  give  &:  grant 
to  him  in  said  Office  full  power  authority  &  right  to 
nominate  appoint  constitute  &  ordain  by  his  last  will 
such  suitable  &  meet  person  or  Persons  as  he  shall  chuse 
to  succeed  him  in  the  Presidency  of  said  Dartmouth 
College  &  the  person  so  appointed  by  liis  last  Will  to 
continue  in  Office  vested  with  all  the  powers  pri^'ileges 
Jurisdiction  &  authority  of  a  President  of  said  Dart- 
mouth College  that  is  to  say  so  long  and  untill  such 
appointment  by  said  last  Will  shall  be  disapproved  by 
the  Trustees  of  said  Dartmouth  College." 

Acting    upon    this    provision    of    the    charter    Dr. 


112  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

Wheelock  appointed  as  his  successor  his  son,  John 
Wheelock,  then  a  Lieutenant  Colonel  in  the  Continental 
Army,  serving  on  the  staff  of  General  Gates  in  New 
Jersey.  The  clause  in  his  will  covering  the  appointment 
is  as  follows:  "I  do  hereby  nominate,  constitute,  and 
appoint  my  said  son  John  Wheelock  to  be  my  successor 
in  said  office  of  President  of  my  Indian  Charity  School 
and  Dartmouth  College,  with  and  into  which  said  School 
is  now  incorporated.  And  to  him  I  give  and  grant  all 
my  right,  title,  and  claim  to  said  Seminary  and  all 
the  appurtenances,  interest.  Jurisdiction,  power,  and 
authority  to,  in,  and  over  the  same  belonging  to  me,  as 
the  founder  of  it,  or  by  grant  in  the  charter  to  me,  or 
by  any  other  ways  or  means  whatsoever." 

I  have  no  doubt  that  in  this  provision  of  the  charter 
of  Dartmouth  College  granting  to  Eleazar  Wheelock 
as  the  founder  the  right  to  appoint  his  successor,  and  in 
the  results  which  followed  the  exercise  of  this  right,  we 
have  the  origin  of  the  Dartmouth  College  Case. 
Unwittingly  the  charter  created  the  condition  for  such  a 
controversy.  Unwittingly  Dr.  Wheelock  filled  out  the 
condition  by  the  appointment  of  his  son.  More  than  un- 
wittingly, for  it  was  with  very  great  reluctance  that  the 
appointment  was  accepted,  Lieutenant  Colonel  Whee- 
lock gradually  became  involved  in  contentions,  local, 
semi-official,  and  finally,  official  which  culminated  in 
the  legal  controversy.  It  is  difficult  to  say  how  much 
should  be  charged  to  the  temperament  and  training  of 
Colonel  Wheelock.  One  quahfying  fact  to  be  borne  in 
mind  is  the  fact  that  his  administration  covered  nearly 
forty  years,  and  forty  years  is  a  good  while  for  any  man 
in  executive  position,  whatever  may  be  his  temper  or 
training,  to  keep  down  personal  or  official  contentions. 


ORIGIN  OF  DARTMOUTH  CASE       113 

Naturally  the  personal  characteristics  of  the  second 
president  Wheelock  were  not  the  same  to  the  eye  of 
friend  and  of  foe.  So  far  as  we  can  form  a  judgment 
of  him  at  this  day,  he  appears  to  have  been  a  man  of 
equal  positiveness  with  his  father,  lacking  his  breadth  of 
view  and  range  of  sympathy,  but  more  insistent  upon 
the  formalities  of  his  position.  Administration  was  not 
altogether  congenial  to  him,  and  he  was  not  a  great 
teacher.  The  most  marked  inconsistency  in  his  career 
lies  in  the  fact  that,  while  being  justly  charged  with 
negligence  in  the  financial  management  of  the  college, 
he  was  thrifty  in  his  own  affairs,  being  possessed  at  his 
death  of  about  $100,000,  a  sum  which  it  was  claimed  by 
his  enemies  made  him  "the  wealthiest  man  in  New 
Hampshire."  There  is  no  evidence  however  of  any 
appropriation  of  college  funds,  or  of  their  use  for  per- 
sonal ends.  If  we  eliminate  any  one  or  all  of  the  per- 
sonal characteristics  of  Colonel  Wheelock  which  may 
have  been  contributory  to  the  controversy,  it  is  quite 
easy  to  see  that  there  were  sufficient  elements  of  conten- 
tion in  the  situation  itself.  On  the  one  hand  the  inher- 
itance from  the  administration  of  the  elder  Wheelock 
was  entirely  that  of  a  personal  and  paternal  govern- 
ment. The  younger  Wheelock  was  simply  asked  to 
take  his  father's  place.  There  were  no  other  traditions 
attaching  to  the  place  than  that  of  personal  government. 
Nobody  at  the  time  had  any  other  conception  of 
the  administration  of  the  college.  When  other  and 
broader  ideas  came  in,  after  the  lapse  of  two  or  three 
decades,  especially  through  changes  in  the  Board  of 
Trustees,  then  occasions  arose  and  multiplied  for  dif- 
ferences, disagreements,  and  contentions.  The  changes 
in  the  Board  of  Trustees  during  the  first  fifty  years  of 


IH  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

the  college  from  the  date  of  its  founding,  1769,  to  the 
decision  in  the  Dartmouth  College  Case,  1819,  were 
very  marked.  This  Board,  consisting  of  twelve  men, 
was  made  up  at  the  first,  in  about  equal  parts,  of  the 
political  associates  of  Governor  Wentworth  in  New 
Hampshire,  and  of  the  ministerial  friends  of  Dr. 
Wheelock  from  Connecticut.  The  War  of  the  Revolu- 
tion falling  within  the  first  decade  changed  almost 
entirely  the  composition  of  the  Board.  Two  only  of 
the  charter  members  remained  through  the  ten  years' 
administration  of  the  first  president.  Governor  Went- 
worth withdrew  at  the  outbreak  of  hostilities  in  1775. 
The  Connecticut  members  gradually  withdrew,  owing 
in  part  to  their  local  interests  in  their  own  colony.  The 
college  thus  separated  from  its  English  patrons,  and 
from  many  of  its  supporters  in  the  other  colonies, 
became  for  the  time  isolated.  Dr.  Wheelock  was 
obliged  to  rely  more  and  more  upon  his  personal  friends, 
among  whom  may  be  mentioned  John  Phillips  of 
Exeter.  Vacancies  in  the  Board  as  they  occurred  were 
filled  by  friends,  and  in  two  cases  by  relatives.  The 
Board  of  Trustees  in  existence  at  the  death  of  the  elder 
Wheelock  in  1779,  which  urged  the  succession  upon  his 
son,  was  in  realit}^  though  apparently  without  design, 
organized  to  perpetuate  the  family  control  of  the  col- 
lege. Within  twenty  years  the  names  upon  the  Board 
as  then  constituted  disappear,  with  two  exceptions,  and 
thereafter  quite  a  different  type  of  trustee  comes  into 
prominence — Nathaniel  Niles,  Judge  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  Vermont,  elected  in  1793;  Thomas  W. 
Thompson,  Member  of  Congress,  in  succession,  in  both 
branches,  1801 ;  Timothy  Farrar,  Judge  of  the  Court 
of  Common  Pleas  of  New  Hampshire,  1804;    Elijah 


ORIGIN  OF  DARTMOUTH  CASE       115 

Paine,  Esquire,  of  Vermont,  1806;  Charles  Marsh, 
Esquire,  U.  S.  District  Attorney  and  Member  of  Con- 
gress, 1809 — an  acquisition  of  legal  ability  which  gave 
the  Board  a  distinctly  legal  character,  and  which  pecul- 
iarly fitted  it,  as  occasions  might  arise,  for  controversial 
action. 

The  occasion  for  open  conflict  between  the  president 
and  the  majority  of  the  trustees  did  not  arise  till  after 
some  years  of  friction  and  suppressed  conflict  within 
the  Board.  It  is  necessary  to  keep  this  fact  in  mind  in 
order  to  understand  the  sudden  and  vigorous  outbreak 
of  hostility.  A  state  of  feeling  had  been  engendered 
which  led  to  results  quite  out  of  proportion  to  the  spe- 
cific causes  put  in  evidence.  In  April,  1815,  a  pamphlet 
appeared  entitled  "Sketches  of  the  History  of  Dart- 
mouth College  and  of  Moor's  Charity  School."  The 
pamphlet  was  anonymous,  but  it  was  evident  that  it  was 
instigated  if  not  prepared  by  President  Wheelock.  It 
was  in  effect  an  arraignment  of  the  trustees  for  the 
attitude  of  the  majority  toward  his  administration, 
''prostrating,"  as  it  charged  in  general,  "the  chartered 
rights  of  the  presidential  office,"  and  specifically  accus- 
ing the  trustees  of  the  "misapplication  or  perversion 
of  funds"  in  the  use  of  the  endowment  for  the  Phillips 
Professorship  of  Divinity.  There  was  httle  ground  for 
the  accusation  that  the  treatment  of  the  Phillips  founda- 
tion involved  the  misuse  of  funds.  What  the  trustees 
did  was  to  add  to  the  duties  of  the  Phillips  Professor 
of  Divinity,  that  of  preacher  to  the  College  Church,  but 
in  so  doing  the  trustees  virtually  took  part  in  a  local 
church  quarrel,  which  action  on  their  part  gave  rise  to 
the  altogether  erroneous  impression,  which  still  remains, 
that  the  origin  of  the  controversy  was  chiefly  rehgious. 


116  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

The  Legislature  of  New  Hampshire  met  in  June. 
President  Wheelock  presented  a  memorial  to  the  Leg- 
islature in  which  he  charged  the  majority  of  the 
trustees  with  having  "forsaken  the  original  principles 
(of  the  charter)  and  left  the  path  of  their  prede- 
cessors"; that  by  improper  "means  and  practices"  they 
had  "increased  their  number  to  a  majority  controlling 
the  measures  of  the  Board";  that  they  had  "applied 
property  to  purposes  wholly  alien  from  the  intention  of 
the  donors";  that  thev  had  "transformed  the  moral  and 
religious  order  of  the  institution  by  depriving  many  of 
their  innocent  enjoyment  of  rights  and  privileges  for 
w^hich  they  had  confided  in  their  faith;  and  that  they 
had  broken  down  the  barriers  and  violated  the  charter 
by  prostrating  the  rights  with  which  it  expressly  invests 
the  presidential  office."  The  memorial  concluded  with 
the  prayer  that  "you  would  please  by  a  committee 
invested  with  competent  powers,  or  otherwise,  to  look 
into  the  affairs  and  management  of  the  institution, 
internal  and  external,  already  referred  to;  and,  if 
judged  exjjedient,  in  your  wisdom,  that  yoM  would 
make  such  organic  and  model  reforms  in  its  systems  and 
movements,  as,  under  Divine  Providence,  will  guard 
against  the  disorders  and  their  apprehended  conse- 
quences." Previous  to  this  memorial  and  before  the 
controversy  in  the  Board  had  become  public.  President 
Wheelock  had  proposed  to  the  trustees  that  the  Leg- 
islature should  be  asked  to  inquire  into  their  differences 
with  a  view  to  arbitration.  The  trustees  claimed  that 
there  was  nothing  to  arbitrate.  At  this  stage  of  the 
controversy  the  broad  question  of  the  legal  right  of  the 
Legislature  to  interfere  in  the  affairs  of  the  college  had 
not  arisen.     The  committee  appointed  by  the  Legis- 


ORIGIN  OF  DARTMOUTH  CASE       HT 

lature  in  response  to  the  "memorial"  was  received  with- 
out dispute,  and  given  all  facilities  for  its  investigation. 

The  clause  in  the  charter  of  the  college  which  gave 
the  founder  and  first  president  the  power  to  appoint 
his  immediate  successor  also  conferred  upon  the 
trustees  the  power  of  removal.  The  person  so  ap- 
pointed was  to  continue  in  office  "so  long  and  untill 
such  appointment  shall  be  disapproved  by  the  Trustees 
of  Dartmouth  College."  On  the  26th  of  August  the 
trustees  made  reply  to  the  charges  in  the  "Sketches" 
and  in  the  "Memorial"  by  stating  their  reasons  for  "dis- 
approving" of  the  appointment  of  President  Wheelock, 
and  by  removing  him  from  office.  In  this  counter- 
charge the  trustees  claimed  that  President  Wheelock 
had  sanctioned  "a  gross  and  unprovoked  libel  upon  the 
Institution  through  the  publication  of  the  'Sketches'  "; 
that  "he  had  set  up  claims  which  in  their  operation 
would  deprive  the  corporation  of  all  its  powers";  that 
he  had  interfered  improperly  and  unfairly  in  the  disci- 
pline of  the  students;  that  he  "had  been  guilty  of  mani- 
fest fraud  in  the  application  of  the  funds  of  Moor's 
School"  in  foisting  an  assumed  Indian  upon  the  Scotch 
fund;  and  that  he  "had  in  various  ways  given  rise  and 
circulation  to  a  report,  that  the  real  cause  of  the  dissatis- 
faction of  the  trustees  with  him  was  a  diversity  of  reli- 
gious opinions  between  him  and  them,  when  in  truth 
and  in  fact  no  such  diversity  was  known  or  is  known  to 
exist,  as  he  has  publicly  acknowledged  before  the  Com- 
mittee of  the  Legislature  appointed  to  investigate  the 
affairs  of  the  College." 

Therefore  they  resolved,  "that  the  appointment  of 
Dr.  John  Wheelock  to  the  Presidency  of  this  College, 
by  the  last  will  of  the  Reverend  Eleazar  Wheelock,  the 


118  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

Founder  and  first  President  of  this  College,  be,  and  the 
same  is  hereby,  by  the  Trustees  of  said  College,  disap- 
proved"; and  further,  "that  the  said  Dr.  John  Whee- 
loek,  for  the  reasons  aforesaid,  be,  and  he  is  hereby, 
displaced  and  removed  from  the  office  of  President  of 
said  College." 

In  reviewing  the  charges  preferred  by  either  side,  one 
can  but  feel,  whatever  may  be  his  sympathies,  how 
insufficient  they  were  to  bear  the  weight  of  the  subse- 
quent contention.  So  it  appeared  at  the  time  to  the 
clear  and  sagacious  mind  of  Jeremiah  Mason.  The 
action  of  the  trustees  in  the  removal  of  President 
Wheelock  was  taken  against  his  direct  and  very  explicit 
advice.  The  only  explanation  of  the  origin  of  the 
Dartmouth  College  Case,  which  to  my  mind  seems  at 
all  adequate,  is  to  be  found  in  the  local  situation  at  the 
time.  The  college  was  then  in  a  state  of  transition 
from  one  order  or  type  of  government  to  another.  This 
state  of  transition  was  unduly  prolonged,  each  year 
showing  greater  and  greater  friction.  The  conflicting 
elements  in  the  Board  of  Trustees  engendered  personal 
feelings  which  at  last  became  more  divisive  than  any 
possible  causes  of  controversy.  Personal  government 
requires  a  great  personality.  Possibly  another  Eleazar 
Wheelock  might  have  maintained  the  old  order  through 
the  forty  years  following  the  death  of  the  founder. 
But  John  Wheelock,  though  a  man  of  no  mean  ability, 
lacked  the  authority  to  prolong  the  old  order,  and  the 
insight  and  temper  to  initiate  the  new.  Had  his  admin- 
istration closed  with  the  first  twenty  years  it  would  have 
been  termed  on  the  whole  a  successful  administration. 
The  new  men  and  the  new  policies,  which  came  in  with 
the  beginning  of  the  century,  created  a  situation  to 


ORIGIN  OF  DARTMOUTH  CASE       119 

which  he  could  not  adjust  himself,  and  which  he  could 
not  master.  John  Wheelock  did  not  live  to  see  the  issue 
of  the  contention  which  developed  in  the  closing  years  of 
his  administration.  He  died  April  4th,  1817.  The  deci- 
sion in  the  Dartmouth  College  Case  was  rendered  Feb- 
ruary 2d,  1819.  It  is  a  fact  worthy  of  note  as  bearing 
upon  the  nature  of  the  controversy  between  the  presi- 
dent and  the  trustees  that  the  successor  of  President 
Wheelock,  as  the  head  of  the  university  which  was 
established  to  replace  the  college,  was  the  Reverend 
William  Allen,  the  son-in-law  and  executor  of  Presi- 
dent Wheelock.  Had  the  attempt  to  supplant  the 
college  with  the  university  succeeded,  the  family  suc- 
cession would  have  been  carried  over  into  the  third 
generation. 

Without  venturing  upon  the  legal  aspects  of  the  con- 
troversy I  may  be  allowed  the  opinion,  held  by  many 
historical  students,  lawyers  and  laymen,  that  the  Dart- 
mouth College  Case,  when  once  it  was  made  up  on  the 
issues  upon  which  it  went  before  the  Court,  was  to  reach 
its  pre-destined  conclusion  in  the  dominating  mind  of 
John  Marshall.  It  is  difficult  to  see  how  he,  with  his 
legal  and  poHtical  training,  could  have  reached  any 
other  decision,  or  how,  under  his  compelling  personal 
influence  the  court  could  have  reached  any  other  deci- 
sion. Notwithstanding  the  circumstances  which  sur- 
rounded the  case,  giving  it,  as  our  Toastmaster  has  said, 
a  high  dramatic  character,  it  seems  to  me  that  if  the  set- 
ting could  have  been  changed,  and  even  the  parties  to 
the  controversy,  and  perhaps  the  very  management  of 
the  case,  the  conclusion  would  have  been  the  same.  I 
give  due  credit  to  the  indefatigable  enterprise  of  the 
trustees,  to  the  sagacity  of  President  Brown,  to  the 


120  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

legal  ability  of  Jeremiah  Mason,  and  to  the  argument  of 
Mr.  Webster  with  its  marvellous  combination  of  logic 
and  emotion,  and  yet  I  must  acknowledge  the  greatest 
indebtedness  of  Dartmouth  College  for  its  continued 
existence  to  Chief  Justice  Marshall.  Whether  one  con- 
siders him  in  his  judicial  attitude  to  the  case,  or  as  a 
representative  of  the  political  interpretation  of  the  con- 
stitution then  coming  into  supremacy,  he  seems  to  have 
been  the  fore-ordained  arbiter  of  the  fate  of  the  college. 

Fortunately  the  two  great  parties  in  the  case,  the 
state  and  the  college,  found  in  the  controversy  the 
ground  of  mutual  respect.  The  state  did  not  enter  of 
its  own  motion  into  the  conflict.  The  president  of  the 
college  appealed  to  the  state  to  interfere  in  its  affairs. 
The  state  was  never  exactly  in  the  position  of  a  prose- 
cuting agent.  The  bitterness  of  feeling  natural  to  a 
semi-political  contention  was  soon  lost  in  the  sense  of 
the  greatness  of  the  legal  issues  involved.  Though 
defeated  in  the  Court  of  final  resort,  the  State  of  New 
Hampshire  has  taken  increasing  pride  in  having  fur- 
nished the  country  such  an  issue,  with  such  far  reach- 
ing and  widespread  results,  and  also  in  the  part  which 
her  sons  took  in  the  legal  arguments.  The  college, 
though  in  a  very  marked  way  nationalized  by  the 
process,  came  to  regard  the  state  with  a  deeper  interest, 
and  to  recognize  more  clearly  its  obligation  to  the  state. 
Whatever  animosities  may  have  been  engendered,  they 
have  long  since  disappeared,  leaving  state  and  college 
of  one  mind  as  to  the  honor  which  accrued  to  each  from 
the  struggle,  and  of  one  purpose  in  furthering  the  end 
which  each  then  held  and  still  holds  in  common. 

You  will  pardon,  as  I  close,  a  reference  to  the  sin- 
gular fortune  which  at  the  first  attended  Dartmouth 


ORIGIN  OF  DARTMOUTH  CASE       121 

College  in  its  corporate  personality.  It  had  immediate 
access  to  the  high  places  of  the  world  into  which  it  was 
born.  Before  it  had  fomid  a  shelter  in  the  wilderness, 
it  had  been  introduced  to  the  Royal  Chamber  of  Great 
Britain,  and  had  gained  welcome  entrance  to  the  most 
honored  families  of  the  mother-land,  from  one  of  which 
it  bore  back  its  corporate  name.  Within  half  a  century 
it  had  found  its  way  into  the  Supreme  Court  of  the 
United  States,  and  in  connection  with  the  struggle 
which  determined  its  own  destiny,  gave  to  the  country 
the  name  of  the  case  which  was  to  affect  the  legal,  polit- 
ical, and  economic  interests  of  the  country  for  many 
generations.  The  college  of  today  has  an  honorable 
pride  in  the  college  of  the  early  days  which  found  its 
place  in  this  high  company.  Of  the  names  which  make 
up  this  company  there  is  none  which  Dartmouth  holds 
in  more  honorable  or  more  grateful  remembrance  than 
the  name  of  John  Marshall. 


IX 
NATIONAL    UNITY 

A  Speech  on  the  Transfer  of  Battle  Flags  following  the  Presenta- 
tion OF  Memorial  Tablets  by  the  State  of  New  Hampshire  to 
THE  U.  S.  S.  Kearsarge  and  the  U.  S.  S.  Alabama,  Portsmouth, 
September  18,  1900 

Explanatoet  Note 

On  February  twenty-third,  1899,  General  William  P.  Chadwick  of  Exeter, 
a  member  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  New  Hampshire  Legislature, 
offered  the  following  resolution  in  the  House: 

"Whereas  one  of  the  nation's  new  battleships  under  construction  by  the 
Government,  and  now  nearing  completion,  has  received  the  name  Kearsarge, 
Resolved  that  in  behalf  of  the  people  of  New  Hampshire,  the  Governor  be 
asked  to  appoint  a  committee  of  citizens  of  the  State  to  procure  and  present 
for  the  use  of  the  "Kearsarge"  a  worthy  testimonial,  which  shall  bear  with 
it  the  affectionate  love  of  the  people  of  New  Hampshire  for  this  noble  ship, 
which  because  of  the  name  it  bears  must  become  of  all  the  battleships  New 
Hampshire's  special  pride." 

The  Committee  appointed  by  Governor  Rollins  representing  each  county 
of  the  State  consisted  of  William  P.  Chadwick,  Exeter;  Sumner  Wallace, 
Rochester;  Thomas  Cogswell,  Gilmanton;  John  Demeritt,  EflBnghara; 
Frank  S.  Streeter,  Concord;  Charles  T,  Means,  Manchester;  Francis  C. 
Faulkner,  Keene;  Seth  M.  Richards,  Newport;  William  J.  Tucker,  Han- 
over; Thomas  H.  Van  Dyke,  Stewartstown.  Through  its  chairman,  General 
Chadwick,  the  Committee  issued  a  statement  to  the  citizens  of  the  State. 

"The  time  has  come  when  the  Commission,  charged  by  the  State  of  New 
Hampshire  with  the  duty  of  procuring  and  presenting  to  the  new  battle- 
ship Kearsarge  a  gift  worthy  of  that  historic  name  and  worthy  of  the  state, 
should  lay  its  matured  plan  before  the  people  of  the  state,  asking  their 
prompt  and  constant  co-operation  and  support. 

"In  the  building  up  of  the  new  navy  the  excellent  rule  has  been  adopted 
of  naming  the  battleships — the  great  ships  of  the  line — for  the  several 
states  of  the  Union.  In  1896  an  exception  was  made  to  this  rule.  Immedi- 
ately after  the  wreck  of  the  old  Kearsarge  it  was  proposed  to  Congress 
by  Mr.  Herbert,  of  Alabama,  then  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  that  the  newest 
of  the  battleships  then  authorized  receive  the  name  of  Kearsarge.  This 
excellent  exception  was  approved  by  Congress  and  the  historic  name  was 


BATTLESHIP  INSCRIPTIONS  123 

perpetuated.  The  same  Congress  provided  for  the  building  of  another  first- 
class  battleship,  which  received  the  name  Alabama. 

"It  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  the  Kearsarge  should  be  honored  by 
a  gift  which  should  worthily  reflect  New  Hampshire  pride  and  New  Hamp- 
shire sentiment.  The  Commission  could  have  stopped  here,  and  procured 
merely  a  worthy  gift  for  New  Hampshire's  battleship.  But  it  felt  that 
if  only  this  were  done  New  Hampshire  would  have  lost  a  unique  oppor- 
tunity to  perform  a  graceful  act,  an  act  which  should  have  a  national  as 
well  as  a  local  significance.  The  Commission  therefore  asks  the  people 
of  New  Hampshire  to  make  a  presentation  to  the  Kearsarge  and  to  the 
Alabama. 

"When  the  two  great  battleships,  Kearsarge  and  Alabama,  are  about  to 
enter  the  service  of  a  united  nation,  can  New  Hampshire  do  a  more  worthy 
act  than  add  to  the  glory  which  surrounds  the  name  Kearsarge  by  making 
it  a  pledge  between  New  Hampshire  and  Alabama  that  they  and  these  two 
noble  ships  are  united  for  the  defence  and  welfare  of  a  common  country? 

The  proposed  gift  to  the  Kearsarge  will  be  a  large  bronze  bas  relief,  to 
be  placed  on  the  forward  turret  between  the  two  13-inch  guns. 

"The  sculptor  is  Mr.  Bela  W.  Pratt,  of  Boston,  who  has  done  much  of  the 
important  work  for  the  Congressional  Library  at  Washington,  for  Yale 
University,  and  for  other  great  art  interests.  Mr.  Pratt  has  given  his 
close  attention  to  the  Kearsarge  memorial  for  the  past  few  months,  and 
regards  it  as  his  greatest  work. 

"The  gift  for  the  Alabama  will  probably  be  a  large  design  in  bronze 
appropriately  inscribed,  to  be  placed  on  one  of  the  turrets.  Dr.  Tucker, 
of  Dartmouth  College,  has  been  asked  by  his  colleagues  on  the  Commission 
to  prepare  the  inscription." 

In  accordance  with  the  above  request  the  following  Inscription  was  pre- 
pared for  the  U.  S.  S.  Kearsarge.  It  was  placed  upon  the  large  bronze 
bas  relief  below  the  two  figures  with  clasped  hands,  representing  the 
reunited  North  and  South. 

From  the  State  of  New  Hampshire  to  the 

U.  S.  S.  Kearsarge 

To  Maintain  Justice  Honor  Freedom 

In  the  Service  of  a  Reunited  People. 

The  Memorial  to  the  U.  S.  S.  Alabama  took  the  form  of  a  large  bronze 
tablet  carrying  the  following  Inscription: 

The  State  of  New  Hampshire  to  the 
U.  S.  S.  Alabama 
This  Tablet,  Companion  to  That  on  the 
U,  S.  S.  Kearsarge,  Placed  Here  by  Courtesy 
of  the  State  of  Alabama  Perpetuates  in 
Enduring  Peace  Names  Once  Joined  in 
Historic  Combat. 


124  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

At  the  Banquet  which  closed  the  day  of  public  presentation  an  incident 
of  peculiar  significance  was  introduced.  Addresses  had  been  made  by  the 
Presiding  Officer,  General  Streeter,  by  Governors  Rollins  and  Johnston,  by 
Secretary  Long,  of  the  Na^y,  and  by  Ex-Secretaries  Chandler  and  Herbert, 
by  Secretary  Gage,  of  the  Treasury,  and  by  Admiral  Farquhar,  Command- 
ing Officer  of  the  North  Atlantic  Squadron,  when  Governor  Rollins  arose 
and  addressing  himself  to  Governor  Johnston,  said: 

"Governor  Johnston,  I  hold  in  my  hand  two  pieces  of  bunting,  worn  and 
faded  and  stained  by  storm  and  battle:  but  they  were  once  borne  at  the 
head  of  regiments  of  brave  men;  once  two  thousand  stalwart  youths  fol- 
lowed wherever  their  folds  gleamed  in  the  wind.  We  do  not  know  the 
names  of  the  regiments  that  bore  them;  we  do  not  know  the  states  from 
whence  they  came;  all  we  know  is  that  they  waved  above  Battery  No.  5,  in 
front  of  Petersburg,  through  all  that  hot  and  terrible  siege,  and  that  they 
were  captured  gallantly  by  the  brave  and  fearless  men  of  the  Thirteenth 
New  Hampshire.  The  man  who  personally  took  one  of  them  was  Private 
Peter  Mitchell  of  Conway,  N.  H.,  who  shows  by  his  presence  that  he 
acquiesces  and  joins  in  what  I  am  about  to  do;  and  the  other  was  cap- 
tured by  Sergeant  James  R.  Morrison,  now  of  Pomona,  Fla. 

"When  this  celebration  was  first  conceived  and  its  dual  character  planned, 
General  Chadwick,  the  chairman  of  the  committee,  suggested  to  me  that 
it  would  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  return  any  southern  battle  flags  the  State 
might  possess.  Upon  investigation  we  found  that  such  flags  had  been 
nearly  all  turned  over  to  the  national  Government  at  the  close  of  the  war, 
but  these  two  flags  were  stored  in  the  vaults  at  the  state  house,  and  upon 
communicating  with  the  captors,  the  officers  and  the  men  of  the  Thirteenth 
Regiment,  we  found  them  very  willing  that  they  should  be  returned. 

"I,  therefore,  sir,  in  behalf  of  the  State  of  New  Hampshire,  of  the 
Thirteenth  regiment,  and  of  Private  Peter  Mitchell  and  Sergeant  Morrison, 
return  to  you,  representing  the  South,  these  mementoes  of  the  bravery  of 
both  our  peoples.  And  I  ask  you  to  ascertain  to  what  regiments  and 
states  these  flags  belong,  and  to  return  them  to  those  who  followed  where 
they  led  the  way. 

"This  action  on  the  part  of  my  State  is  meant  as  a  token  of  our  love  and 
friendship,  and  a  testimony  to  your  courage  and  bravery." 

Unfortunately  the  reply  of  Governor  Johnston,  which  was  marked  by 
much  feeling,  was  not  reported. 

The  speech  which  immediately  followed,  concluding  the  Banquet,  has 
been  reproduced  from  brief  notes. 

Mr.  Toastmaster,  Governor  Rollins,  and  Governor  Johnston: 

The  heart  of  the  nation  has  been  waiting  for  such  an 
act  as  that  which  we  have  just  witnessed,  embodying  as 
it  does  so  completely  the  spirit  of  this  memorable  day. 


BATTLESHIP  INSCRIPTIONS  125 

North  and  South  alike  have  been  ready  to  break 
through  the  restraints  and  reserves  which  naturally  fol- 
low upon  a  civil  war,  and  to  reassert  that  feeling  which 
is  deeper  than  the  feelings  engendered  by  strife.  The 
time  has  now  come,  we  cannot  be  mistaken  in  believing, 
to  break  the  silence  of  these  past  years,  generous  and 
healing  though  it  has  been — but  not  by  words.  Words 
cannot  restore  what  deeds  have  taken  away.  It  is  the 
office  of  the  fit  and  sincere  act  to  bring  back  the  old 
friendship.  I  count  it  the  honorable  and  timely  dis- 
tinction of  the  states  of  New  Hampshire  and  Alabama, 
a  distinction  which  will  certainly  have  its  place  in  his- 
tory, that  they  are  able  to  lead  the  way  in  this  really 
significant  interchange  of  sentiment.  Other  states  have 
been  more  conspicuously  related  to  one  another  through 
their  earlier  past,  as  notably  Massachusetts  and  Vir- 
ginia. But  the  fortune  of  the  recent  war,  shall  I  not 
say  the  comradeship  of  one  of  its  greatest  events,  has 
given  us  our  opportunity,  and  we  have  dared  to  take  it. 
We  have  dared  to  call  up  the  most  thrilling,  perhaps  the 
most  separating  incident  of  the  war;  we  have  dared  to 
bring  together  names  which  had  thrust  men  farthest 
apart;  we  have  dared  to  evoke  the  memory  of  a  fight 
fierce  and  bitter  unto  death;  and  having  done  this  what 
remains  to  be  ignored,  or  evaded,  or  held  back?  The 
restoration  of  these  flags  is  not  a  charity,  it  is  not  even 
a  courtesy.  These  flags  go  back  to  you,  men  of  Ala- 
bama, by  the  logic  of  the  situation,  and  with  them  go 
our  hearts. 

I  am  asked  to  speak  a  brief  closing  word,  after  this 
act,  to  the  toast — "The  United  States" — the  most  sig- 
nificant name  among  the  nations,  for  it  is  a  name  which 
embodies  a  principle  and  a  history,  a  name  which  has 


126  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

thus  far  been  justified  and  maintained  only  through 
perpetual  sacrifice.  The  sentiment  of  unity,  I  do  not 
say  the  principle  but  the  sentiment  of  unity,  is  the  soul 
of  our  national  life.  We  cannot  exist  as  a  nation  with- 
out a  passion  for  unity,  second  only,  if  at  all,  to  the  pas- 
sion for  liberty.  No  nation  of  modern  times  has  had  an 
inner  life  like  our  own.  Few  nations  have  had  any 
inner  life  compared  with  the  outer  life  of  conquest  and 
empire.  But  from  the  very  beginning  the  thought  of 
the  people  of  this  country  has  been  turned  inward,  and 
the  point  of  solicitude,  concession,  and  at  last  struggle, 
has  been  unity.  At  first  it  was  unity  simply  as  a  means 
to  an  end,  the  end  being  freedom  as  expressed  in  inde- 
pendence, but  sometimes  it  seemed  as  hard  to  ensure  the 
means  as  to  reach  the  end.  The  struggle  leading  up 
to  the  Revolution,  and  through  it,  was  the  struggle  for 
unity  quite  as  much  as  for  liberty.  I  marvel  more  and 
more  at  the  enduring  patience,  the  constant  forbearance, 
the  unfailing  sacrifices  which  wrought  their  sure  result 
in  our  national  independence.  Liberty  was  won  we  say 
at  Bunker  Hill,  at  Trenton,  at  Yorktown:  yes,  but 
more  clearly  in  the  silent  determination  of  consenting 
hearts,  in  the  generous  concessions  of  statesmen  and  sol- 
diers, in  the  mutual  support  of  the  colonies,  in  the 
unbroken  will  of  a  people  set  on  freedom.  Liberty  was 
won  when  Washington  stood  under  the  Cambridge  elm 
and  without  dissent  took  command  of  the  meagre  but 
united  band  of  patriots  from  North  and  South.  Vic- 
tory rested  in  that  calm,  steadfast,  compelling  nature. 
For  seven  years  it  waited,  but  it  was  as  sure  as  was  his 
life,  the  central  and  commanding  figure  among  men  who 
knew  no  fear,  who  would  not  yield  to  dissensions,  who 
would  be  one  to  the  end. 


BATTLESHIP  INSCRIPTIONS  127 

And  yet  when  the  immediate  end  came,  and  the  thir- 
teen strugghng  colonies  became  the  United  States  of 
America,  there  began  to  be  felt  at  once  that  great  con- 
cern as  to  how  the  Union  might  be  saved.  It  was  not 
an  unwarranted  concern.  It  affected  every  interest  of 
the  nation.  There  was  not  a  debate  in  Congress,  how- 
ever remote  the  subject  might  be — the  tariff,  acquisition 
of  territory,  education — which  was  not  sensitive  to  the 
danger  which  threatened  the  Union.  Before  a  genera- 
tion had  passed  the  political  situation  became  tense. 
Then  concession  followed  concession:  compromise  fol- 
lowed compromise.  The  effort  to  preserve  the  Union 
became  pathetic.  As  the  years  went  on,  pathos  deep- 
ened into  tragedy.  Pubhc  careers,  the  careers  of  many 
of  our  greatest  statesmen  were  sacrificed.  Personal 
friendships  were  sundered.  Gradually  we  became  to 
the  outward  appearance  thoroughly  sectionalized.  At 
last  the  national  tragedy  came  upon  us.  A  generation 
went  down  into  suffering  and  sorrow.  To  what  end? 
For  freedom?  Yes,  again  for  freedom,  and  in  many 
ways  through  a  nobler  and  more  unselfish  struggle  than 
the  first.  I  think  that  none  of  us  would  deny  that  the 
civil  war  marvellously  enlarged  the  idea  of  liberty,  and 
refined  its  quality.  But  back  in  all  of  our  hearts  was 
the  conviction  that  the  nation  must  live.  We  could  not 
believe  that  it  was  in  the  plan  of  God,  we  would  not 
believe  that  it  was  really  in  the  heart  of  man  that  the 
nation  should  die,  that  the  nation  should  cease  to  be  the 
United  States.  The  ineradicable,  the  indestructible 
passion  for  unity  was  in  us  all  whether  we  fought  for  it 
or  against  it. 

And  now  that  the  struggle  to  gain  the  Union  and  to 
save  it  is  over,  who  does  not  rejoice  in  the  established 


128  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

integrity  of  the  nation.  Who  does  not  feel  the  new 
sense  of  power,  the  new  sense  of  security,  the  new  sense 
of  freedom.  "We  the  people"  are  more  than  ever  "we 
the  states."  We  are  no  longer  afraid  to  claim  or  to 
admit  our  mutual  rights.  Every  state  born  out  of  the 
original  compact,  every  state  created  out  of  acquired 
territory,  every  state  now  in  the  making,  knows  that  it 
has  the  assm-ance  of  its  safety  and  the  promise  of  its 
greatness  in  the  fact  that  it  is  an  integral  part  of  the 
United  States.  We  may  not  minimize  the  perils  which 
beset  the  future  of  the  nation.  No  nation  can  guar- 
antee its  own  future.  But  of  the  vital  forces  which 
are  to  conserve  our  national  life  we  have  put  the 
two  greatest  to  the  proof.  We  have  the  right  to  believe 
that  these  will  abide  in  their  saving  strength.  When 
the  prospect  was  far  otherwise  than  it  is  today,  when  the 
perils  to  the  Union  were  more  evident  than  its  safety, 
one  man  among  us,  native  to  these  hills,  who  walked 
the  streets  of  the  city  where  we  are  met,  uttered  in  the 
national  Congress  the  memorable  word  of  hope.  Surely 
we  cannot  doubt  the  perpetuity  of  a  nation  which  we 
have  seen  founded  and  refounded  in  "liberty  and 
union."  We  of  all  men  can  least  deny  ourselves  the 
hope  that  "liberty  and  union,"  which  are  ours  by  the 
rights  of  inheritance  and  by  the  rights  of  sacrifice,  will 
abide  with  us  according  to  the  prophetic  vision,  "one 
and  inseparable." 


X 

COMMODORE  PERKINS 

Address  at  the  Unveiling  of  the  Statue  in  State  House  Yard,  Con- 
cord, N.  H.,  April  25,  1903 

Reputation  rests  upon  long  accumulations  of  char- 
acter and  service:  fame  sj)rings  out  of  the  deed  of  the 
moment.  And  yet  it  is  easier  to  acquire  reputation 
than  it  is  to  achieve  fame.  The  two  are  not  inconsist- 
ent. The  man  of  reputation  may  become  famous,  but 
not  simply  by  virtue  of  those  things  which  give  him  rep- 
utation. Somewhere  within  the  years  of  character  and 
service  there  must  lie  the  pregnant  moment  out  of  which 
comes  the  utterance  or  the  deed  which  thrills  men  or 
which  makes  them  think.  The  man  of  fame,  on  the 
other  hand,  ought  to  be  in  himself  evidently  sufficient  to 
say  the  word  or  to  do  the  deed  which  makes  him  famous. 
He  ought  to  be  able  to  stand  undiminished  in  the  light 
which  the  accomplished  act  flashes  back  upon  him.  It  is 
pathetic  when  the  great  act  separates  itself  from  the 
actor,  and  leaves  him  behind,  or  when  in  his  changing 
career  the  man  falls  away  from  the  hero. 

Fame,  to  carry  the  distinction  a  little  further,  is  more 
rare  than  reputation  because  of  the  extraordinary  and 
sudden  demand  which  it  makes  uj)on  personal  power. 
It  is  for  the  most  part  inseparable  from  the  passing 
opportunity,  or  from  the  opportunity  which  if  per- 
manent is  out  of  common  reach.  Possibly  the  man  of 
thought  may  take  his  time  to  become  famous.  Discov- 
ery may  wait  on  investigation.    The  man  of  action  must 


130  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

always  be  the  man  of  the  occasion,  and  occasions 
demand  that  concentration  and  final  use  of  personal 
power  of  which  few  men  are  capable,  even  among  those 
who  have  power.  The  number  of  really  capable  aspir- 
ants after  fame  is  at  no  time  large.  It  is  not  the  ab- 
sence of  opportunity  which  restricts  so  much  as  it  is  the 
absence  of  that  last  element  of  personal  power,  the 
clearer  insight  or  the  more  daring  courage,  which  can 
command  the  opportunity  when  it  arrives. 

The  high  distinction,  however,  of  fame  is  that  it  rests 
longest  and  most  lovingly  upon  those  who  deserve  best 
of  their  fellow  men.  It  expresses  not  simply  the 
admiration  and  wonder  of  men  but  their  gratitude. 
Gratitude  is  on  the  whole  the  surest  test  of  a  lasting 
fame.  So  mankind  marks  this  "surv^ival  of  the  fittest" 
by  perpetuating  their  names,  by  rehearsing  their  deeds, 
by  committing  to  the  care  of  the  noblest  of  the  arts  their 
very  features  and  form  that  they  may  still  have  their 
place  among  living  men. 

The  memorial  of  Commodore  Perkins  has  now  passed 
into  the  custody  of  the  State  of  New  Hampshire.  The 
gift  of  his  wife  and  daughter,  it  has  become  the  prop- 
erty of  us  all,  open  henceforth  to  the  public  view.  The 
man  whom  it  commemorates  is  before  us.  The  record 
of  his  deeds,  above  which  he  stands,  tells  us  why  he  is 
here. 

I  congratulate  the  citizens  of  the  state,  and  especially 
the  residents  of  this  city,  upon  the  possession  of  this 
statue.  The  genius  who  has  enriched  other  states  by 
his  works  has  wrought  no  inferior  work  in  this  his  first 
contribution  to  his  native  state.  The  same  touch  which 
idealized  the  "Minute  Man"  of  the  Revolution  has 
shaped  the  real  and  the  actual  in  this  hero  of  the  later 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  131 

struggle.  Many  a  lover  of  art,  it  is  safe  to  predict,  who 
has  made  his  pilgrimage  to  other  places  where  this 
sculptor  has  wrought  will  come  hither  on  a  like  errand : 
many  a  man  who  walks  these  streets  will  find  himself 
irresistibly  drawn  here  even  in  the  midst  of  the  weari- 
ness of  the  day's  work:  many  a  boy  from  city  or  coun- 
try coming  here  in  mere  curiosity  will  stay  longer  than 
he  meant  to  stay,  not  knowing  why,  and  will  come 
again,  not  knowing  why,  till  little  by  little  he  begins  to 
learn  the  power  of  art  to  interpret  heroism.  So  much 
are  we  indebted  to  the  medixmi,  through  which  we  can 
best  express  our  gratitude  to  our  noble  dead,  and  be- 
queath something  of  their  essential  nobleness  to  poster- 
ity. 

It  remains  to  me  to  attempt  to  retell  in  simple  words, 
and  in  its  own  setting,  the  story  of  the  New  Hampshire 
lad,  who  before  he  had  reached  the  age  of  thirty  had 
made  for  himself  a  lasting  name,  and  had  added  a  new 
lustre  to  the  honor  of  his  state.  At  fifteen  enrolled  as 
a  midshipman  at  Annapolis,  at  twenty-eight  he  had 
earned  the  title  of  "the  hero  of  Mobile  Bay."  I  shall 
try  to  show  how  the  intervening  years  led  up  to  this 
height  of  fame:  and  also  how  the  years  which  fol- 
lowed gave  that  solid  support  in  reputation  upon 
which  the  fame  of  the  earlier  years  rests  securely.  The 
sources  of  information  are  open  to  all  in  the  reports, 
histories,  and  public  prints,  which  have  to  do  with  the 
Civil  War,  but  I  desire  to  make  special  acknowledgment 
of  the  letters  of  Commodore  Perkins,  preserved  by  his 
mother,  and  edited  by  his  sister,  and  of  the  tribute  so 
generous  and  so  full  paid  by  his  gallant  brother-in-arms, 
himself  a  son  of  New  Hampshire  and  worthy  of  a  like 
place  in  its  history — Rear  Admiral  Belknap. 


132  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

The  presumption  is  always  in  favor  of  the  well  born. 
All  honor  to  the  man  who  announces  himself  to  the 
world.  All  honor  to  the  man  who  makes  his  own  begin- 
ning, whose  first  step  is  to  escape  from  his  environment, 
who  makes  his  future  out  of  the  contrast  with  his  past. 
The  very  antagonisms  of  such  an  origin  may  create  per- 
sonal power.  But  the  advantage  is  still  with  the  well 
born,  for  a  part  of  his  birthright  is  freedom  of  spirit. 
The  absolutely  self-made  man  is  seldom  free  from  the 
tone  of  bitterness,  or  of  pathos,  which  runs  as  a  refrain 
through  his  life.  The  difference  between  him  and  other 
men  of  equal  success  is  usually  a  difference  in  tone. 
The  joyousness  of  childhood,  which  was  never  his,  is 
always  missing.  The  great  things  which  go  before 
other  men,  and  begin  life  for  them  have  no  place  in  his 
life,  and  in  their  absence  the  spirit  has  no  retreat  into 
memories  which  can  cheer  and  gladden  it. 

The  characteristic  of  George  Hamilton  Perkins  was 
his  freedom  of  spirit.  He  was  born  free.  He  was  a 
child  of  nature.  His  home  was  dear  to  him,  present  or 
absent.  All  the  beginnings  of  his  life,  all  his  early 
surroundings,  went  to  make  up  the  fibre  of  his  nature 
and  to  give  it  tone.  His  courage  was  natural,  almost 
unconscious.  He  did  not  dare  to  do  the  things  which 
boys  are  wont  to  do,  he  did  them.  And  as  a  man,  when 
really  brave  things  were  to  be  done,  he  simply  did  them. 
His  moral  courage  took  the  character  of  his  natural 
courage,  simple,  prompt,  unhesitating,  unconscious.  I 
find  in  his  letters  no  morbid  apprehension  of  danger,  no 
premonitions,  no  hesitancies.  All  is  healthful,  natural, 
free. 

And  this  same  freedom  of  spirit  declared  itself  in 
unfailing  good  humor.     "Always  keep  your  men  and 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  133 

yourself  in  good  heart,"  he  said  to  De  Long  as  he 
started  for  the  North  Pole.  Here  lay  in  part  the  secret 
of  his  own  leadership.  He  kept  his  men  in  good  heart 
because  he  kept  himself  in  good  heart.  He  carried  into 
action  more  than  coolness,  a  certain  exhilaration  of 
spirit  which  was  yet  utterly  different  from  the  thought- 
less joy  of  the  fray.  Fighting  was  always  sad  business 
to  him.  It  simply  could  not  repress  the  buoyancy  of 
his  nature. 

There  was  a  close  connection  between  his  passionate 
love  of  kindred  and  his  loyalty.  He  could  not  separate 
between  his  love  of  home  and  his  love  of  duty.  I  know 
of  nothing  finer  than  the  constancy  and  tenderness  of 
this  young  man's  affection  for  his  mother.  It  was  bound 
up  in  his  love  of  country.  One  the  eve  of  the  battle  of 
Mobile  Bay  he  wrote  to  his  mother,  "I  know  I  shall  not 
disgrace  myself,  no  matter  how  hot  the  fighting  may  be, 
for  I  shall  be  thinking  of  you  all  the  time." 
*'0  Mother,  Mother,  I  wish  I  could  put  my  arms  around 
your  neck  and  receive  your  blessing  and  good-by  once 
more."  And  this  after  the  first  engagement:  "For 
your  sake  I  am  glad  to  say  that  the  Chickasaw  has  won 
for  herself  a  name.  I  tell  you  this  because  I  thought 
you  would  like  to  hear  it.  It  is  now  nothing  but  fight, 
fight,  fight,  all  the  time.  I  can  only  tell  you  that  I  am 
well."  Is  it  not  of  high  advantage  to  be  well  born  if 
that  means  the  endowment  of  a  free  and  brave  spirit, 
and  the  inspiration  of  early  associations  in  the  hour  of 
duty? 

But  the  advantage  of  being  well  born  may  be  easily 
lost  if  it  is  not  followed  by  the  even  greater  advantage 
of  being  well  trained.  It  is  difficult  to  measure  the 
significance  of  the  great  callings  in  which  men  are 


134  PUBLIC  MINDEDXESS 

trained  until  we  see  their  effect  upon  the  fortune  of  a 
given  life.  Here  was  a  fresh,  gladsome,  brave  boy,  sat- 
isfied with  the  ordinary  routine  of  study  and  sport,  but 
with  his  future  entirely  undetermined.  The  offer  of  an 
appointment  for  him  to  the  Naval  Academy  was  made 
to  his  parents.  The  offer  was  somewhat  reluctantly 
accepted.  Doubtless  the  chief  meaning  of  its  accept- 
ance to  young  Perkins  lay  in  the  new  surroundings,  in 
that  mixture  of  routine,  discipline,  and  fun  which  the 
old  graduates  of  the  Naval  Academy  recall  to  us  with 
so  much  of  genuine  feeling.  The  real  meaning  of  the 
change  was  the  commitment  of  a  lad  to  a  great  and 
imperative  calling.  He  had  been  taken  out  of  the  unor- 
ganized and  undirected  life  around  him,  that  his  own 
life  might  thenceforth  have  order  and  direction.  Such 
is  the  power  of  every  high  calling,  of  all  the  professions, 
over  the  individual  life.  They  organize,  train,  and  then 
direct  it.  But  nowhere  is  the  training  so  distinct  and 
absolute  as  in  the  Navy.  Nowhere  is  it  so  difficult  to 
pass  from  the  unorganized  life  which  lies  around  a  pro- 
fession into  the  organized  life  within.  The  higher 
grades  in  the  Navy  are  practically  inaccessible  from 
the  ranks,  not  necessarily  because  of  social  disqualifica- 
tions,— men  enter  Annapolis  without  social  standing, — 
but  because  of  the  lack  of  scientific  and  professional 
training.  The  Naval  Academy  is  entirely  democratic 
in  its  terms  of  admission,  but  through  the  necessities  of 
its  scientific  and  professional  training  it  becomes  an 
aristocracy  closer  and  more  exclusive  than  can  be  found 
elsewhere  in  this  country.  The  Navy  as  a  profession 
has  its  limitations  like  all  exclusive  forms  of  hfe,  but  no 
one  can  fail  to  see  its  high  moral  bearings.  It  keeps  the 
life  entrusted  to  it  in  close  contact  with  such  moral 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  135 

terms  as  obedience,  honor,  and  duty.  When  the  fitting 
opportunity  comes,  the  life  thus  trained  is  ready  for 
heroism.  Character  and  training  aHke  need  oppor- 
tunity. 

It  was  in  1856  that  young  Perkins  graduated  from 
Annapohs.  Two  years  later  he  took  his  final  examina- 
tion for  the  grade  of  passed  midshipman.  Even  then 
there  was  no  indication  that  his  opportunity  was  at  hand. 
By  a  singular  coincidence,  however,  the  chief  service 
which  he  rendered  previous  to  the  war,  his  entire  service 
after  passing  to  the  full  grade  of  midshipman,  was  asso- 
ciated indirectly  with  the  cause  of  the  war.  He  was 
assigned  for  duty  as  acting  master  to  the  steamer 
Sumter,  which  was  to  join  the  United  States  squadron 
stationed  off  the  west  coast  of  Africa  to  co-operate  with 
a  British  squadron  for  the  suppression  of  the  slave  trade. 

It  is  a  fact,  which  has  doubtless  passed  out  of  the 
remembrance  of  most  of  those  before  me  who  were  con- 
versant with  the  events  leading  up  to  the  Civil  War, 
that  the  decade  from  1850  to  1859  was  marked  by  a 
serious  agitation  in  the  South  for  the  reopening  of  the 
slave  trade.  The  movement  naturally  originated  in  the 
Gulf  or  adjacent  states,  and  found  its  chief  support 
there.  In  1857  the  committee  of  the  South  Carolina 
legislature,  to  which  the  governor's  slave-trade  message 
was  referred,  declared  in  italics,  "The  South  at  large 
does  need  a  reopening  of  the  African  slave  trade."  In 
Georgia  an  attempt  to  expunge  the  slave-trade  prohibi- 
tion from  the  state  constitution  lacked  but  one  vote  of 
passage.  In  Louisiana  a  bill  passed  the  house  of  repre- 
sentatives, authorizing  a  company,  indentured  for 
fifteen  years,  to  import  two  thousand  five  hundred 
Africans.     The  bill  needed  but  two  votes  of  passing  the 


136  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

senate.  It  is  not  probable  that  a  majority  of  the  peo- 
ple, even  of  the  Gulf  states,  were  in  favor  of  the  reopen- 
ing of  the  trade,  but  the  movement  itself  was  strong  and 
constant,  and  was  productive  of  increasing  results.  In 
1860  Stephen  A.  Douglas  declared  that  "there  was  not 
a  shadow  of  doubt  that  the  slave  trade  had  been  carried 
on  quite  extensively  for  a  long  time  back,  and  that  there 
had  been  more  slaves  imported  into  the  Southern  states 
during  the  past  year,  1859,  than  had  ever  been  imported 
before  in  any  one  year,  even  when  the  slave  trade  was 
legal.  It  was  his  confident  belief  that  over  fifteen  thou- 
sand slaves  has  been  brought  into  this  country  during 
the  past  year." 

It  is,  of  course,  a  simple  coincidence,  but  a  most  sug- 
gestive one,  that  we  have  in  the  first  assignment  of 
young  Perkins  to  responsible  duty,  such  a  vivid  glimpse 
of  the  situation  immediately  preceding  and  compelling 
the  Civil  War.  I  say  compelling,  for  in  what  other 
way  than  through  war  could  the  nation  have  resisted  in 
the  long  issue  the  pressure  of  those  economic  conditions 
under  which  men  were  beginning  to  demand  the  revival 
of  the  slave  trade;  under  which  so  sane  a  man  as 
Alexander  H.  Stephens  was  led  to  declare  to  his  constit- 
uents in  his  farewell  address  in  1850:  "My  object  is 
simply  to  bring  clearly  to  your  mind  the  great  truth — 
that  without  an  increase  of  African  slaves  from  abroad, 
you  may  not  expect  or  look  for  many  more  slave  states. 
If  the  policy  of  this  country,  settled  in  its  early  history, 
of  prohibiting  further  importations  or  immigrations  of 
this  class  of  population,  is  to  be  adhered  to,  the  race  of 
competition  between  us  and  our  brethren  of  the  North 
in  the  colonization  of  new  states,  which  heretofore  has 
been  so  well  maintained  by  us,  will  soon  have  to  be 
abandoned." 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  13T 

It  is  perhaps  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  at  the  time 
of  the  assignment  of  young  Perkins  to  duty  on  the 
West  African  coast,  there  was  Httle  effectiveness  in  the 
attempts  made  to  suppress  the  slave  trade.  The  failure 
to  accomplish  anything  is  a  matter  of  constant  com- 
plaint in  his  letters.  "We  meet  a  good  many  slavers," 
he  writes  soon  after  arrival,  "which  carry  on  the  traffic 
as  palm-oil  traders,  and  there  are  a  great  many  vessels 
engaged  in  the  slave  trade;  but  under  the  present  sys- 
tem it  is  almost  useless  for  us  to  try  to  do  anything  to 
stop  the  slave  trade.  Our  cruisers  cannot  do  much  under 
our  laws,  and  the  English  make  the  principal  captures." 
Doubtless  something  of  the  contrast  between  the  effi- 
ciency of  the  British  and  the  American  cruisers  was 
due  to  the  difference  in  the  positions  of  their  respective 
governments  in  regard  to  the  right  of  search,  but  doubt- 
less more  was  due  to  a  difference  in  the  disposition  of 
the  governments.  In  following  out  their  instructions 
the  captains  of  American  cruisers  were  obliged  to 
release  ship  after  ship  of  whose  illegal  character  there 
was  no  doubt.  The  cruise  became  under  these  condi- 
tions monotonous  and  discouraging,  because  futile. 
"Our  vessels,"  he  writes  under  date  of  April  15,  1860, 
"cruise  very  little  now  after  slavers.  The  captain 
thinks  it  useless  under  existing  laws.  A  few  days  ago 
we  overhauled  a  barque  all  ready  to  take  her  negroes  on 
board,  but  after  detaining  her  two  days  our  captain 
decided  there  was  nothing  on  board  that  was  not  on  her 
manifest  and  so  let  her  go.  The  clipper  ship  Night- 
ingale has  just  gone  ashore  with  two  thousand  negroes 
on  board.  If  she  gets  them  to  Havana  they  will  bring 
on  an  average  six  hundred  dollars  apiece;  so  you  can 
calculate  how  much  money  will  be  made  on  her.     This 


138  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

Nightingale  is  a  powerful  clipper  ship,  and  is  the  prop- 
erty of  its  captain,  Bowen,  who  is  called  the  prince  of 
slavers.  The  first  time  I  was  up  the  Congo,  the  Sumter 
went  up  fifteen  miles  after  a  slaver  under  his  command, 
called  the  Sultana.  I  had  information  that  slavers  were 
fitting  out  up  the  river,  and  told  the  captain,  and  he 
took  the  Sumter  up.  We  found  the  barque  Sultana 
and  the  brig  Kibby  with  their  slave  decks  all  laid  and 
everything  perfectly  ready  for  that  cargo.  We  took 
both  of  the  ships  and  detained  one  of  them  three  days, 
and  then  after  all  our  captain  let  her  go,  declaring 
against  every  proof  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  ships 
but  what  was  in  their  manifest.  Of  course  these  ships 
at  once  filled  up  with  slaves  and  escaped — calmly  sailed 
off — there  was  no  'escape'  about  it,  and  with  the  money 
Bowen  made  from  the  sale  of  those  slaves  he  has  pur- 
chased this  Nightingale,  one  of  the  fastest  clipper  ships 
known." 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  disheartening  business  that 
rumors  came  to  the  squadron  of  the  outbreak  which  pre- 
ceded the  rebellion.  Under  date  of  February  13,  1860, 
he  writes,  "The  mail  brings  us  today  very  exciting  news, 
all  about  the  Southern  insurrection.  I  cannot  take 
much  stock  in  it,  nor  credit  such  an  awful  thing  as  any 
prospect  of  the  dissolution  of  the  Union."  For  more 
than  a  year  the  men  on  the  cruise  were  in  a  state  of 
suspense,  the  news  reaching  them  only  in  most  irregular 
ways,  but  through  such  word  as  came  to  hand  young 
Perkins  was  forming  his  opinion  and  settling  into  his 
principles  of  action.  "I  do  not  say  much,"  he  writes 
on  May  1,  1860,  "but  I  feel  and  know  that  if  I  had  the 
power  I  would  act.  I  am  thankful  to  see  by  the  papers 
that  the  North  has  at  last  become  of  pretty  much  one 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  139 

mind  as  to  the  course  to  be  pursued  in  regard  to  the 
rebellion,  that  it  must  be  put  down  and  the  Union  must 
be  saved." 

On  July  1,  1860,  the  Sumter  was  ordered  to  proceed 
at  once  to  New  York,  with  Mr.  Perkins  advanced  to  the 
position  of  executive  officer.  "This  old  Sumter,"  he 
said,  "is  pretty  well  used  up,  and  they  have  not  thought 
Jier  fast  enough  to  chase  slavers.  But  as  I  am  now  first 
lieutenant  of  her,  her  power  of  speed  will  be  thoroughly 
tested  on  her  run  home,"  a  promise  which  he  made 
good,  making  the  run  in  thirty-six  days,  the  quickest  on 
record  at  the  time. 

Summing  up  the  results  of  the  two  years'  cruise,  saved 
from  an  utterly  inglorious  result  by  the  capture  of  a 
slaver  just  before  starting  homeward,  he  says  in  his 
humorous  vein,  "As  I  have  been  both  navigator  and 
caterer  of  the  mess,  I  have  been  making  some  calcula- 
tions and  find  that  since  we  left  New  York  we  have  run 
over  fifty  thousand  miles,  and  that  five  of  us  have  eaten 
three  thousand  chickens." 

Such,  in  brief  statement,  was  the  introduction  of 
Commodore  Perkins  to  his  career.  The  story  which 
follows  seems  hke  a  mere  thread  shot  into  the  warp  and 
woof  of  the  events  of  the  war,  but  it  is  a  thread  of  light. 
It  is  the  story  of  a  young  man  just  now  approaching 
his  twenty-fifth  birthday,  concerning  whom  the  record 
often  repeats  itself, — "he  was  the  youngest  officer  in 
command."  It  is  the  story  of  a  young  officer  promoted 
from  one  post  of  danger  to  another.  It  is  the  story 
which  reaches  its  end,  not  in  rank,  but  in  duty  and 
achievement. 

The  war,  as  we  have  seen,  was  well  under  way  when 
Lieutenant  Perkins  reached  this  country.     As  soon  as 


140  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

he  had  recruited  his  health  he  was  ordered  as  first  lieu- 
tenant to  the  Cayuga,  then  fitting  out  at  New  York  and 
known  as  one  of  the  ninety-day  gunboats.  The  Cayuga 
was  under  orders  when  he  joined  her,  but  there  was  a 
delay  of  several  weeks  in  sailing,  due  no  doubt  in  large 
degree  to  the  fact  to  which  Lieutenant  Perkins  refers 
in  one  of  his  letters,  that  none  of  the  officers  except  the 
captain  had  ever  been  to  sea  before  in  a  man-of-war; 
and  that  here  were  ninety-five  green  hands  among  the 
crew  to  be  broken  in  and  gotten  into  some  kind  of 
discipline. 

It  was  March  31,  1862,  when  the  Cayuga  reached  her 
destination  at  Ship  Island  to  take  her  place  in  the  fleet 
there  assembling,  under  the  command  of  Captain 
Farragut,  for  the  campaign  of  the  lower  Mississippi. 
The  blockade  of  the  Mississippi  had  been  established 
within  two  months  after  the  opening  of  the  war,  but  as 
late  as  the  spring  of  1862  the  river  was  in  the  possession 
of  the  Confederates  from  Cairo  to  the  Gulf.  The  task 
of  opening  the  river  from  above  was  entrusted  to  Cap- 
tain Foote.  Captain  Foote  was  greatly  assisted  in  his 
plans  by  Captain  Eads  through  the  peculiar  type  of 
gunboat  which  he  had  invented  for  river  draft.  The 
plan  proposed  for  the  opening  of  the  lower  Mississippi 
was  the  scheme  of  Assistant  Secretary  Fox  of  the  Navy. 
The  chief  defenses  of  New  Orleans,  some  ninety  miles 
below  the  city,  were  forts  Jackson  and  St.  Philip  on 
either  side  of  the  river,  forts  constructed  by  the  govern- 
ment and  greatly  strengthened  by  the  enemy.  It  was 
the  daring  project  of  running  the  forts,  chiefly  with 
wooden  ships,  and  capturing  New  Orleans,  which  was 
entrusted  to  Farragut.  The  forts  were  not  the  only 
defense  of  the  approaches  to  the  city.     Across  the  river 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  141 

between  the  forts  was  a  huge  cable  of  rafts  anchored  at 
frequent  points  to  hold  it  against  the  current.  Above 
the  forts  lay  the  powerful  ironclads,  Louisiana  and 
Manassas,  with  a  complement  of  river  boats  which  had 
been  made  ready  for  attack  or  defense.  There  was 
great  activity  in  building  other  and  more  powerful  iron- 
clads. It  was  in  part  to  anticipate  their  construction 
that  the  plan  of  running  the  forts  was  devised.  Farra- 
gut  arrived  at  Ship  Island  in  the  Hartford  on  February 
20th,  but  it  was  not  until  April  23d  that  he  was  able  to 
get  everything  in  readiness  for  the  attack.  On  the 
afternoon  of  that  day  he  visited  the  different  ships  of 
the  fleet  to  make  sure  that  his  orders  were  understood. 
At  two  o'clock  on  the  following  morning  the  signal  to 
advance  was  given  from  the  flag-ship.  The  Caj^uga, 
which  had  been  made  the  flag-ship  of  Captain  Bailey's 
division  of  the  fleet,  was  ordered  to  take  the  lead,  and  the 
ship  was  put  in  charge  of  Lieutenant  Perkins  as  pilot — 
a  rare  tribute  to  the  courage,  judgment,  and  skill  of  this 
young  oflicer,  who  had  never  been  in  action  and  who  had 
never  seen  a  length  of  the  way  over  which  he  was  to 
lead  the  fleet.  The  story  of  the  advance  must  be  told 
in  his  own  modest  but  graphic  words.  "Captain  Har- 
rison paid  me  the  compliment  of  letting  me  pilot  the 
vessel,  and  though  it  was  a  starlight  night  we  were  not 
discovered  until  we  were  well  under  the  forts;  then 
they  opened  a  tremendous  fire  on  us.  I  was  very 
anxious,  for  the  steering  of  the  vessel  being  under  my 
charge  gave  me  really  the  whole  management  of  her. 
The  Cayuga  received  the  first  fire,  and  the  air  was  filled 
with  shells  and  explosions  which  almost  blinded  me  as  I 
stood  on  the  forecastle  trying  to  see  my  way,  for  I  had 
never  been  up  the  river  before.     I  soon  saw  that  the 


142  PUBLIC  MIXDEDNESS 

guns  of  the  forts  were  all  aimed  for  the  mid-stream,  so 
I  steered  close  under  the  walls  of  Fort  St.  Philip,  and 
although  our  masts  and  rigging  got  badly  shot  through, 
our  hull  was  but  little  damaged.  After  passing  the  last 
battery  and  thinking  we  were  clear,  I  looked  back  for 
some  of  our  vessels,  and  my  heart  jumped  up  into  my 
mouth  when  I  found  I  could  not  see  a  single  one.  I 
thought  they  all  must  have  been  sunk  by  the  forts. 
Then,  looking  ahead,  I  saw  eleven  of  the  enemy's  gun- 
boats coming  down  upon  us,  and  it  seemed  as  if  we  were 
'gone'  sure.  Three  of  these  made  a  dash  to  board  us, 
but  a  heavy  charge  from  our  eleven-inch  gun  settled 
the  Gov.  JMoore,  which  was  one  of  them.  A  ram,  the 
Manassas,  in  attempting  to  butt  us,  just  missed  our 
stern,  and  we  soon  settled  the  tliird  fellow.  Just  then 
some  of  our  gunboats,  which  had  passed  the  forts,  came 
up,  and  then  all  sorts  of  things  happened.  There  was 
the  wildest  excitement  all  around.  The  Veruna  fii'ed  a 
broadside  into  us  instead  of  the  enemy.  Another  of  our 
gunboats  attacked  one  of  the  Cayuga's  prizes, — I 
shouted  out,  'Don't  fire  into  that  ship,  she  has  surren- 
dered!' Three  of  the  enemy's  ships  had  surrendered 
to  us  before  any  of  our  vessels  appeared,  but  when  they 
did  come  up  we  all  pitched  in  and  settled  the  eleven  rebel 
vessels  in  about  twenty  minutes. 

"The  Cayuga  still  led  the  way  up  the  river,  and  at 
daylight  we  discovered  a  regiment  of  infantry  encamped 
on  the  shore.  As  we  were  very  close  in,  I  shouted  to 
them  to  come  on  board  and  deliver  up  their  arms,  or  we 
would  blow  them  all  to  pieces.  It  seemed  rather  odd 
for  a  regiment  on  shore  to  be  surrendering  to  a  ship! 
They  hauled  down  their  colors,  and  the  colonel  and  com- 
mand came  on  board  and  gave  themselves  up  as  pris- 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  143 

oners  of  war.  The  regiment  was  called  the  Chalmette 
regiment,  and  has  been  quite  a  famous  one. 

"Soon  after  this  the  commodore  came  up  in  the  Hart- 
ford and  ordered  us  all  to  anchor  and  take  a  little  rest 
before  attacking  New  Orleans,  which  was  now  within 
twenty  miles.  By  this  time  our  ship  had  received  forty- 
two  shots  in  masts  and  hull,  and  six  of  our  men  had  been 
wounded.  All  this  time,  night  and  day,  fire-rafts  and 
ships  loaded  with  burning  cotton  had  been  coming  down 
the  river,  and  surrounded  us  everywhere.  Besides 
these,  the  bombardment  was  continuous  and  perfectly 
awful.  I  never  expect  to  see  such  a  sight  again.  The 
river  and  shore  were  one  blaze,  and  the  sounds  and 
explosions  were  terrific.  Nothing  I  could  say  would 
give  you  any  idea  of  these  last  twenty-four  hours. 

"The  next  morning,  April  25,  we  all  got  under  weigh 
again,  the  Cayuga  still  leading,  and  at  about  nine  o'clock 
New  Orleans  hove  in  sight.  We  called  all  hands  and 
gave  three  cheers  and  a  tiger!" 

The  first  news  of  the  passage  of  the  forts  came  in  a 
message  through  the  Confederate  lines.  It  ran  as  fol- 
lows: "One  of  the  enemy's  gunboats,  the  Cayuga,  above 
the  forts."  To  follow  the  fortune  of  one  man  in  a 
great  fight  may  seem  to  violate  the  sense  of  proportion 
as  much  as  the  message  which  put  the  Cayuga  alone 
"above  the  forts."  But  this  is  our  present  interest. 
We  are  not  studying  the  history  of  a  campaign  nor  of  a 
battle,  but  the  career  of  a  young  man  and  how  he  bore 
himself  in  his  first  fight.  He  was  given  a  place  of  rare 
responsibility.  The  result  shows  that  he  was  worthy 
of  it. 

The  passage  of  the  forts  left  New  Orleans  not  only 
defenseless,  but  humiliated  and  exasperated.     The  city 


144  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

was  entirely  unprepared  for  this  quick  change  of  for- 
tune. There  had  been  no  sobering  effect  of  a  siege,  only 
the  irritating  effect  of  a  blockade.  It  was  like  a  blow 
to  a  man  in  comparative  health,  unable  to  resist,  but  able 
to  feel.  As  the  fleet  stood  before  the  city  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  25th,  the  whole  city  was  wrought  up  to  the 
highest  tension  of  feeling.  The  process  of  destruction 
was  everywhere  going  on.  The  store  houses  and  ships 
were  in  flames.  The  army  of  defense  had  withdrawn. 
The  mob  was  in  possession. 

At  noon  Captain  Bailey  was  ordered  to  proceed  to  the 
city  hall  to  demand  the  formal  surrender  of  the  city. 
He  chose  Lieutenant  Perkins  as  his  escort.  The  two 
went  alone.  As  they  landed  they  were  greeted  with 
jeers,  imprecations,  and  threats.  The  mob  grew  more 
violent  as  they  passed  from  the  levee  into  the  streets  out 
of  immediate  sight  of  the  ships.  Every  step  added  to 
their  danger.  It  was  a  far  more  perilous  trip  than  the 
passage  of  the  forts.  Mr.  George  W.  Cable,  who  was 
an  eye-witness  of  the  scene,  has  described  it  in  these 
words:  "About  one  or  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  (as 
I  remember) ,  I  being  again  in  the  store  with  but  one 
door  ajar,  came  a  roar  of  shoutings  and  imprecations 
and  crowding  feet  down  Common  street,  'Hurrah  for 
Jeff  Davis!  Hurrah  for  Jeff  Davis !  Shoot  them!  Kill 
them!  Hang  them!'  I  locked  the  door  on  the  outside, 
and  ran  to  the  front  of  the  mob,  bawling  with  the  rest, 
'Hurrah  for  Jeff  Davis!'  About  every  third  man  there 
had  a  weapon  out.  Two  officers  of  the  United  States 
Navy  were  walking  abreast,  unguarded  and  alone,  look- 
ing not  to  right  or  left,  never  frowning,  never  flinching, 
while  the  mob  screamed  in  their  ears,  shook  cocked 
pistols  in  their  faces,  cursed,  and  crowded,  and  gnashed 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  145 

upon  them.  So  through  the  gates  of  death  those  two 
men  walked  to  the  city  hall  to  demand  the  town's  sur- 
render. It  was  one  of  the  bravest  deeds  I  ever  saw 
done." 

The  command  of  Farragut  covered  the  Gulf.  His 
squadron  was  known  as  the  Gulf  squadron.  His  first 
orders  were  "to  clear  the  Mississippi."  This  he  now 
proceeded  to  do,  though  contrary  to  his  own  judgment. 
Proceeding  up  the  river  he  ran  the  batteries  at  Port 
Hudson  and  Vicksburg,  but  it  soon  became  evident  that 
the  river  could  not  be  held  until  the  army  was  ready  to 
co-operate  in  full  measure.  So  long  as  Vicksburg 
remained  in  the  hands  of  the  Confederates  the  river 
could  not  be  made  free.  It  seemed  advisable  to  with- 
draw the  fleet  from  above  New  Orleans.  The  general 
disappointment  was  doubtless  expressed  by  Lieutenant 
Perkins,  as  he  saw  the  movement  from  his  position  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Red  river:  "We  had  received  orders 
to  proceed  up  the  Red  river,  but  this  morning  we  saw 
all  the  Commodore's  fleet  coming  down  the  Mississippi 
from  Vicksburg  with  all  the  troops,  and  there  is  a 
change  of  program.  It  seems  the  Commodore  has 
received  positive  orders  from  the  department  to  take 
the  fleet  to  Pensacola  and  prepare  for  more  important 
service.  I  am  sorry  Commodore  Farragut's  winding 
up  in  this  river  has  turned  out  so.  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing that  if  the  department  had  sustained  him  the  river 
would  have  been  cleared  long  ago." 

After  the  capture  of  New  Orleans  it  was  evident  that 
the  next  important  work  of  the  Gulf  squadron  would 
be  in  Mobile  Bay.  It  was  so  understood  by  the  Con- 
federacy; with  this  understanding  the  city  and  harbor 
were  put  in  the  best  possible  state  of  defense.     No  more 

10 


146  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

powerful  fortifications  were  to  be  found  along  the 
Southern  coast.  But  the  chief  reliance  was  placed  upon 
the  construction  of  ironclads.  The  largest  naval  sta- 
tion in  the  South  was  at  Selma,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  up  the  Alabama  river.  The  best  engineers  in 
the  Southern  navy  were  sent  there  to  superintend  the 
construction  of  new  vessels.  Admiral  Buchanan,  who 
commanded  the  Merrimac  in  her  encounter  with  the 
Monitor,  was  ordered  from  Richmond  to  build  another 
ironclad  on  the  model  of  the  Merrimac,  but  of  superior 
power.  The  result  was  the  Tennessee,  the  most  for- 
midable ironclad  built  in  the  South.  Four  gunboats 
were  at  the  same  time  in  process  of  construction. 

The  impatience  of  Farragut  while  these  preparations 
for  attack  as  well  as  defense  were  going  on  can  easily 
be  understood.  His  call  for  men,  for  ships,  above  all 
for  ironclads,  grows  almost  pathetic:  "Can  you  not 
spare  me  one  of  the  many  ironclads  off  Charleston  or 
on  the  upper  Mississippi?"  But  the  exigencies  of  the 
war  held  him  back.  More  than  a  j^ear  was  to  elapse 
after  the  capture  of  New  Orleans  before  the  new  fleet 
could  be  gathered  in  Mobile  Bay.  Meanwhile  the  usual 
and  common^^lace  work  which  follows  a  great  victory 
was  to  be  carried  on,  that  of  minor  expeditions  along  the 
coast  and  up  the  rivers,  policing  and  blockading. 

There  seems  to  be  no  fit  provision  in  our  Navy  or 
Army  for  the  recognition  of  particular  acts  of  superior 
judgment  or  of  heroism,  except  through  promotion  in 
rank,  which  is  liable  to  work  an  injustice.  The  skill 
and  courage  which  Lieutenant  Perkins  displayed  in  his 
first  action  entitled  him  to  that  kind  of  recognition  for 
which  men  in  the  service  of  other  nations  receive  dis- 
tinguished marks  of  honor.     But  there  is  one  recogni- 


COMMODORE   PERKINS  147 

tion  of  such  conduct  which  does  not  wait  upon  any  for- 
mal honor.  It  is  the  confidence  of  brave  men  who  know 
the  worth  of  courage.  "Perkins,"  said  General 
Weitzel,  who  was  organizing  an  expedition  of  ten  thou- 
sand men  and  a  fleet  of  gunboats  to  go  up  through  the 
bayous  into  Red  river,  "Perkins,  you  are  the  only  man 
I  know  of  fitted  to  go  through  the  desperate  fighting 
we  shall  have ;  but  with  you  in  command  of  those  gun- 
boats and  me  with  my  troops,  we  can  face  the  devil,  and 
are  bound  to  win.  But  unless  you  will  go  with  me,  I 
have  my  doubts  about  succeeding,  and  I  shall  think 
twice  before  I  go." 

Word  came  to  Lieutenant  Perkins  that  he  had  been 
ordered  to  take  command  of  the  Berwick  Bay  fleet  with 
the  Arizona  for  his  vessel,  but  before  the  expedition 
could  be  organized  Berwick  Bay  was  captured  and  the 
plan  was  abandoned.  Remaining  in  service  on  the 
Cayuga,  Lieutenant  Perkins  was  made  at  the  close  of 
the  year  lieutenant-commander,  a  new  grade  created 
by  Congress,  and  was  soon  after  given  command  of  the 
New  London  during  the  absence  of  the  commanding 
officer,  and  upon  his  return  was  transferred  to  the 
command  of  the  gunboat  Scioto, — the  best  command 
at  that  time  in  the  squadron  for  an  officer  of  that 
grade,  according  to  the  authority  of  Admiral  Bel- 
knap,— and  assigned  to  duty  on  the  blockade 
off  the  coast  of  Texas.  He  continued  in  this  unevent- 
ful and  somewhat  commonplace  service  for  nine  months, 
when  he  was  ordered  home  on  leave  of  absence  to  recruit 
his  health.  It  was  at  this  juncture  that,  learning  of  the 
impending  attack  on  Mobile,  he  asked  to  be  allowed  to 
remain  on  duty  and  to  take  part  in  the  attack.  The 
request  was  most  gratifying  to  Admiral  Farragut,  who 


148  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

at  once  acceded  to  it,  and  put  him  in  command  of  the 
Chickasaw,  one  of  the  ironclads  of  the  fleet.  The 
Chickasaw  was  one  of  Captain  Eads'  boats,  built  at  St. 
Louis,  and  just  from  the  works.  She  was  hardly  com- 
plete enough  for  service  when  she  arrived  off  Mobile. 
Her  new  commander  gave  all  his  energy  and  skill  to 
putting  her  and  her  crew  into  condition.  The  crew  con- 
sisted of  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  men  and  twenty- 
five  officers.  She  carried  four  eleven-inch  guns,  and 
had  two  turrets.  It  required  fifteen  engines  to  work 
her.  The  preparation  of  the  ship  for  the  fight  was 
not  confined  to  its  material  condition.  The  night 
before  the  fight  the  commander  called  his  officers  into 
the  cabin  and  addressed  them:  "Gentlemen,  by  this  time 
tomorrow  the  fate  of  this  fleet  and  of  Mobile  will  be 
sealed.  We  have  a  duty  to  perform  and  a  victory  to 
win.  I  have  sent  for  you  to  say  that  not  a  drop  of  wine, 
liquor,  or  beer  is  to  be  drunk  on  board  of  this  vessel 
from  this  hour  until  the  battle  is  over  and  the  victory 
won,  or  death  has  come  to  us.  It  is  my  wish  that  every 
officer  and  man  shall  go  into  battle  with  a  clear  head 
and  strong  nerves.  I  rely  upon  you  to  conform  with 
this  requirement,  confident  that  the  Chickasaw  and  her 
crew  can  thus  best  perform  their  whole  duty." 

The  fleet  on  the  day  of  attack,  August  5,  1864,  con- 
sisted of  twenty-one  wooden  ships  and  four  ironclads. 
The  old  wooden  ship  Hartford  was  still  the  admiral's 
ship.  The  four  ironclads  went  into  battle  in  the  order 
of  the  seniority  of  their  commanding  officers — the 
Tecumseh,  Captain  Craven;  the  Manhattan,  Com- 
mander Nicholson;  the  Winnebago,  Commander  Stev- 
ens; and  the  Chickasaw,  Lieutenant-Commander  Per- 
kins.    The  chief  concern  of  the  wooden  ships  was  with 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  149 

the  forts.  The  defense  of  the  fleet  against  the  power- 
ful Tennessee,  under  Admiral  Buchanan,  lay  with  the 
ironclads.  There  was  every  reason  to  fear  that  the 
Tennessee  might  repeat  in  Mobile  Bay  the  work  of  the 
Merrimac  in  Hampton  Roads.  It  was  the  ambition 
of  Captain  Craven  of  the  Tecumseh,  which  was  in  the 
lead,  to  meet  and  disable  the  Tennessee.  As  Admiral 
Farragut  said  of  him,  "his  heart  was  bent  on  it."  With 
this  object  in  immediate  view,  and  fearing  through  a 
turn  of  the  Tennessee  that  the  ram  would  pass  out  of 
his  reach,  he  boldly  set  the  course  of  his  ship  over  a  bed 
of  torpedoes.  The  ship  went  on,  neither  the  monitor 
nor  the  ram  firing  a  gun  until  they  were  within  one  hun- 
dred yards  of  one  another.  Then  came  a  dull,  sullen 
explosion,  and  the  Tecumseh  began  at  once  to  sink. 
But  there  was  time  enough  to  show  the  heroism  of  her 
commander.  As  he  and  the  pilot  rushed  instinctively 
for  one  narrow  way  of  escape.  Captain  Craven  drew 
back,  "You  first,  sir."  As  the  pilot  said  on  his  escape, 
"There  was  nothing  after." 

The  loss  of  the  Tecumseh  broke  the  line  of  battle, 
which  Farragut  quickly  recovered  by  pressing  to  the 
front  with  the  more  rapid  wooden  ships.  According 
to  the  accounts  of  the  naval  experts,  the  battle  which 
was  now  on  showed  some  of  the  most  magnificent  sea- 
manship of  the  war.  Success  often  hung  upon  the 
boldness  of  orders  which  Farragut  alone  could  have 
issued.  But  as  Captain  Drayton  said  to  him  in  the 
first  lull  of  the  fight,  "What  we  have  done  has  been 
well  done,  sir,  but  it  all  counts  for  nothing  as  long  as  the 
Tennessee  is  there  under  the  guns  of  Fort  Morgan.'* 
"I  know  it,"  Farragut  rephed,  "and  as  soon  as  the  peo- 
ple have  had  their  breakfast  I  am  going  for  her."     The 


150  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

Tennessee  did  not  wait  for  the  attack,  but  herself 
resumed  the  offensive.  Then  came  the  general  order, 
"Attack  the  ram  not  only  with  your  guns,  but  bows  at 
full  speed,"  and  to  the  monitors,  "Attack  the  Ten- 
nessee." 

The  time  of  the  monitors  was  now  fully  come,  espe- 
cially of  the  Chickasaw  as  the  least  disabled  of  the 
three  remaining.  Lieutenant-Commander  Perkins 
carefully  felt  his  way  around  the  great  ram  to  find  its 
most  vulnerable  point.  That  proved  to  be  the  stern, 
and  there  he  doggedly  stuck  to  the  end  of  the  fight, 
keeping  up  a  terrific  fire  from  the  eleven-inch  guns  of 
his  ship.  As  the  record  of  the  naval  historian  reads, 
"From  that  time  Lieutenant-Commander  Perkins  was 
never  more  than  fifty  yards  from  his  antagonist,  and 
frequently  the  vessels  were  in  actual  contact.  He 
planted  fifty-two  eleven-inch  shot  on  the  Tennessee's 
casemate,  most  of  them  on  the  after  end,  where  the 
greatest  injury  was  done  and  many  plates  were  started. 
A  well-directed  shot  from  the  Chickasaw  jammed  the 
Tennessee's  stern-port  shutter  so  that  the  gun  could 
not  be  run  in  or  out,  and  it  was  not  long  before  the 
rudder-chains,  which  were  exposed  on  the  deck  of  the 
Tennessee,  were  shot  away.  Relieving  tackles  for 
steering  the  ship  were  adjusted,  but  these,  also,  in  a 
short  time  were  carried  away.  Seeing  that  the  battle 
was  against  him  and  that  there  was  no  hope  of  contend- 
ing successfully  against  the  fleet,  Buchanan  now 
ordered  Captain  Johnston  to  steer  for  Fort  Morgan, 
with  a  view  of  seeking  the  shelter  of  its  guns.  Buchanan 
at  this  time  was  directing  a  gun,  when  a  shot  from  the 
Chickasaw  jammed  the  shutter  so  that  it  could  not  be 
moved.     He  sent  to  the  engine-room  for  a  machinist 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  151 

to  push  out  the  pin  of  the  shutter,  hoping  that  it  would 
fall  away,  thus  leaving  the  port  open;  and  while  the 
machinist  was  endeavoring  to  do  this  a  heavy  shot 
struck  the  edge  of  the  port-cover  outside  where  the  man 
was  working.  The  same  shot  mortally  wounded  one 
of  the  gun-crew,  and  drove  the  washers  and  nuts  across 
the  deck  with  such  force  as  to  break  Buchanan's  leg 
below  the  knee.  He  was  carried  to  the  surgeon's  table 
below,  and  while  his  wound  was  being  dressed  he  sent 
for  Johnston  (who  after  the  accident  to  the  pilot  had 
been  directing  the  movements  of  the  ram  from  the  pilot- 
house) and  said:  "Well,  Johnston,  they've  got  me. 
You'll  have  to  look  out  for  her  now." 

It  soon  became  evident  to  Captain  Johnston  that  it 
was  useless  to  prolong  the  struggle.  After  advising 
again  with  Admiral  Buchanan  he  went  on  the  casemate 
and  put  out  a  white  flag,  when  at  10  a.  m.  the  firing 
ceased.  Through  the  courtesy  of  Commander  Perkins 
the  surrender  was  actually  made  to  Captain  LeRoy  of 
the  Ossipee.  This  is  Commander  Perkins's  statement: 
"When  Johnston  came  on  the  roof  of  the  Tennessee 
and  showed  the  white  flag  as  signal  of  surrender,  no 
vessel  of  the  fleet  was  as  near  as  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
but  the  Ossipee  was  approaching,  and  her  captain  was 
much  older  than  myself.  I  was  wet  with  perspiration, 
begrimed  with  powder,  and  exhausted  by  long-con- 
tinued exertion.  I  drew  back  and  allowed  Captain 
LeRoy  to  receive  the  surrender,  though  my  first  lieu- 
tenant, Hamilton,  said  to  me  at  the  time:  'Captain, 
you  are  making  a  mistake.'  " 

When  the  surrender  was  made  Commander  Perkins 
took  the  Tennessee  in  tow  and  delivered  her  alongside 
the  Hartford. 


152  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

Thus  closed  a  sea  fight  second  only  in  dramatic  inter- 
est to  the  fight  of  the  Merrimac  and  Monitor.  To  no 
single  ship,  not  to  the  Chickasaw,  belongs  the  whole 
glory  of  any  one  part  of  the  conflict,  but  its  share  was 
glorious  and  has  gone  into  history.  The  testimony 
from  friend  and  foe  assigns  to  Lieutenant-Commander 
Perkins  the  fatal  work  of  that  heroic  struggle.  The 
Tennessee's  pilot  asked,  "Who  commanded  the  monitor 
that  got  under  our  stern?"  and  added,  "He  stuck  to  us 
like  a  leech.  We  could  not  get  away  from  him.  It 
was  he  who  cut  away  the  steering  gear,  jammed  the 
stern-port  shutters,  and  wounded  Admiral  Buchanan." 
Captain  Johnston  of  the  Tennessee  said,  "If  it  had  not 
been  for  that  black  hulk  hanging  on  our  stern  we  would 
have  got  along  well  enough;  she  did  us  more  damage 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  Federal  fleet."  Admiral 
Buchanan  said  the  Tennessee  would  have  defeated  the 
entire  fleet  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  monitor,  which 
seemed  to  move  by  magic.  It  would  turn  around  three 
times  to  the  Tennessee's  once  and  seemed  to  be  every- 
where. The  services  of  Lieutenant  Perkins  in  this  bat- 
tle made  such  an  impression  on  Captain  James  B.  Eads, 
the  builder  of  the  Chickasaw,  that  he  said,  "I  would 
walk  fifty  miles  to  shake  hands  with  the  young  man  who 
commanded  her."  The  following  extract  is  from  the 
report  of  Rear  Admiral  D.  G.  Farragut,  of  August  12, 
1864:  "Our  ironclads  from  their  slow  speed  and  bad 
steering  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  into  and  main- 
taining their  position  in  line  as  we  passed  the  forts,  and 
in  the  subsequent  encounter  with  the  Tennessee  from 
the  same  causes  were  not  as  effective  as  could  have  been 
desired,  but  I  cannot  give  too  much  praise  to  Lieuten- 
ant-Commander Perkins,  who,  though  he  had  orders 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  153 

from  the  Department  to  return  North,  volunteered  to 
take  command  of  the  Chickasaw,  and  did  his  duty 
nobly." 

It  was  nearly  a  month  before  Fort  Morgan  and  all 
the  fortifications  of  the  Bay  came  into  the  possession  of 
the  government,  but  with  the  fight  of  Mobile  Bay  the 
great  work  of  the  Gulf  squadron  ended.  Admiral  Far- 
ragut  was  soon  afterwards  relieved  of  duty,  and 
returned  to  the  North,  the  command  devolving  on  Com- 
mander Palmer.  Lieutenant-Commander  Perkins  re- 
mained in  command  of  the  Chickasaw  until  July  ninth 
of  the  following  year,  when  he  was  relieved  of  com- 
mand and  ordered  home.  On  sick  leave  he  had  volun- 
teered for  the  Mobile  campaign,  but  remained  in  con- 
stant service  for  thirteen  months. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  war  Commander  Perkins 
took  up  in  dignity  and  with  efficiency  the  various  duties 
to  which  he  was  assigned  from  time  to  time  at  home 
and  abroad.  These  duties  do  not  generally  test  the 
commander,  but  they  do  test  the  man.  He  bore  the 
tests  of  his  manhood  as  he  had  borne  the  tests  of  hero- 
ism. The  promotion  which  might  have  naturally  been 
expected,  and  which  his  friends  in  the  Navy  and  with- 
out waited  for,  did  not  come,  but  no  word  of  complaint 
ever  crossed  his  lips.  He  continued  to  do  his  duty  as 
if  it  had  been  fully  recognized.  He  carried  about  with 
him  the  same  cheer  which  had  marked  his  early  life. 
In  all  things  and  everywhere  he  declared  himself  to  the 
full  a  gentleman.  His  fame  has  the  constant  and  last- 
ing support  of  his  reputation.  In  1896  through  the 
efforts  of  the  United  States  senators  and  congressmen 
from  New  Hampshire  Mr.  Perkins  was  given  the  rank 
of  Commodore  without  pay. 


154  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

There  were  many  points  in  the  early  life  of  Coromo- 
dore  Perkins  of  dramatic  interest,  some  of  which  might 
have  been  seized  upon  for  public  presentation:  the 
youthful  figure  standing  at  the  bow  of  the  Cayuga  in 
the  early  dawn,  leading  the  fleet  in  the  passage  of  the 
forts ;  the  companion  of  Captain  Bailey  in  the  perilous 
march  through  the  streets  of  New  Orleans;  the  com- 
mander of  the  Chickasaw  delivering  over  the  Tennes- 
see to  his  ranking  officer  on  the  Ossipee.  But  the 
sculptor  has  done  wisely  in  putting  before  us  the  man 
in  his  maturity.  Commodore  Perkins  was  more  than 
any  one  or  all  of  the  incidents  which  declare  his  fame. 
He  stands  before  us  the  man  of  capacity,  great  in  action, 
great  in  reserve.  As  one  recalls  his  history,  as  one 
looks  upon  the  man,  one  feels  assured  that  had  he  gone 
over  into  the  service  of  the  late  war  the  fame  of  his 
later  years  would  have  equaled  that  of  his  earlier  years. 

In  placing  the  statue  of  Commodore  Perkins,  a  hero 
of  the  Civil  War,  upon  these  grounds,  the  State  of 
New  Hampshire  makes  no  comparison  with  other  heroes 
of  this  or  of  other  wars.  The  act  is  representative.  It 
is  the  simple  acknowledgment  by  the  State  of  New 
Hampshire  of  that  patriotism,  whenever  and  wherever 
shown,  which  has  its  highest  expression  in  heroism. 
And  if  it  is  asked  why  this  revival,  after  the  lapse  of  a 
generation,  of  the  memories  of  a  civil  war,  my  answer 
is  still  the  same.  Heroism  is  priceless;  the  reminder 
of  it  is  always  timely.  No  nation  may  conserve  its 
unity  at  the  cost  of  sentiment.  We  have  come  together 
as  a  people,  not  by  ignoring  the  great  deeds  of  the  past, 
nor  by  retiring  those  who  wrought  them.  There  has 
been  liberty  of  remembrance  and  of  expression  North 
and  South. 


COMMODORE  PERKINS  155 

A  few  years  since  I  went  out  for  the  afternoon  from 
Washington  to  Alexandria.  My  errand  was  to  see  old 
Christ  Church  because  of  its  association  with  Washing- 
ton. But  on  my  way  my  eye  caught  sight  of  a  statue  in 
one  of  the  public  squares.  It  was  a  statue,  simple  and 
unadorned,  of  a  Confederate  cavalryman,  standing  with 
drooped  head,  with  his  slouch  hat  under  his  left  arm. 
It  bore  no  name,  but  it  told  its  story,  the  story  of  a  lost 
cause.  I  came  back  to  it  again  and  again.  My  errand 
was  quickly  done  that  I  might  return  once  more.  I 
acknowledged,  because  I  felt,  the  sentiment  which  it 
was  meant  to  inspire,  the  sentiment  of  respect  for  the 
heroism  of  a  lost  cause. 

Let  no  false  sensitiveness  retire  the  heroism  of  the 
cause  which  won.  In  allowing  and  honoring  that  lib- 
erty which  neither  forbids  nor  denies  to  any  the  pathos 
of  an  irrevocable  past,  let  us  not  withhold  in  any  meas- 
ure the  glory  of  that  heroism  which  made  possible  the 
future  of  a  reunited  land. 


XI 
THE    OWNERSHIP    OF    LAND 

Address  at  the  Thirty-First  Annual  Session  of  the  New  Hampshire 
Grange,  Dover,  N.  H.,  December  20,  1904 

In  responding  to  your  invitation  to  take  part  in  the 
annual  meeting  of  the  State  Grange  of  New  Hamp- 
shire, let  me  assure  you  that  I  do  not  presume  upon 
your  courtesy  to  the  extent  of  attempting  to  instruct 
you  in  the  duties  of  your  Order,  or  in  the  methods 
of  your  work.  I  do  not  envy  the  man  who,  in  these 
days  of  specialized  training,  undertakes  to  tell  other 
men  what  he  does  not  know,  and  what  they  quickly  see 
he  does  not  know,  about  their  business.  At  the  same 
time,  for  the  very  reason  that  we  are  being  specialized 
away  from  one  another,  we  ought  to  be  able  to  know 
how  others  regard  us ;  to  know,  for  example,  what  value 
the  public  puts  upon  our  work  in  the  midst  of  the  rapid 
changes  which  are  going  on  in  the  valuation  of  the 
industries.  There  is  more  danger  on  the  whole  from 
the  undervaluation  than  from  the  overvaluation  of 
almost  any  calling.  And  if  in  any  calling  there  ap- 
pears to  others  to  be  an  undervaluation  at  some  partic- 
ular point,  the  reminder  of  the  fact  is  certainly  pertinent 
and  may  be  useful. 

I  venture,  therefore,  to  speak  to  you  from  the  outside 
point  of  view,  of  the  growing  appreciation  by  the  pub- 
lic mind  of  ownership  in  land. 

There  are  three  kinds  of  power  to  which  our  times 
attach  special  value.     First,  personal  power,  as  seen 


RETURN  TO  LAND  OWNERSHIP      15T 

in  the  means  which  are  taken  to  ensure  it.  We  are  all 
trying  to  lift  ourselves  and  our  children  out  of  the  com- 
monplace. The  recognized  means  of  gaining  distinc- 
tion in  a  democracy  is  education.  We  educate,  there- 
fore, with  a  view  to  personal  power.  We  have  come  as 
a  people  to  beheve  in  the  truth  of  the  saying  that 
"knowledge  is  power." 

Second,  the  power  of  organization.  The  value  set 
upon  this  kind  of  power  comes  largely  from  industrial- 
ism. The  last  generation  gave  us  the  self-made  man. 
The  self-made  man  has  little  or  no  chance  today, — the 
smaller  trader  in  the  great  cities,  the  non-union  man  at 
the  industrial  centers.  The  self-made  man  has  virtu- 
ally given  place  to  the  organizing,  or  to  the  organized, 
man. 

Third,  the  power  which  attaches  to  ownership.  Pos- 
sessions have  always  been  reckoned  a  source  of  power, 
but  their  peculiar  value  hes  today  in  their  utility.  We 
ask  of  money,  as  we  ask  of  men,  what  can  it  do?  We 
think  of  money,  that  is,  chiefly  as  capital.  We  should 
not  rate  the  man  who  has  a  million  dollars  in  specie 
locked  up  in  his  vaults  as  at  all  comparable  in  power 
with  the  man  who  has  half  that  amount  in  productive 
capital. 

Now  in  the  present  revaluation  of  the  possessions  of 
men,  viewed  as  sources  of  power,  there  is,  as  I  have  said, 
a  growing  appreciation  of  ownership  in  land.  I  do  not 
mean  necessarily  that  land  is  selling  for  more,  though, 
in  the  aggregate,  this  is  of  course  true,  but  rather  that 
the  value  of  land  can  be  translated  more  and  more 
clearly  into  terms  of  social  and  political  and  moral 
power.  And  when  you  put  this  statement  into  the  con- 
crete, it  means  that  influences  are  at  work,  from  out- 


158  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

side  his  business  and  in  a  sense  apart  from  his  own 
efforts,  to  give  the  farmer  a  relatively  higher  and  higher 
place  in  the  social  order. 

In  support  of  this  view,  I  call  your  attenfion  in  the 
first  place  to  the  persistence  with  which  governments 
hold  to  the  idea  of  the  political  value  of  private  owner- 
ship in  land,  its  value  to  good  citizenship.  Apart  from 
guaranteeing  the  education  of  the  schools  to  its  citizens, 
the  one  thing  which  the  government  makes  provision 
for  is  private  ownership  in  land,  and  the  end  in  each 
case  is  practically  the  same.  I  do  not  wonder  that  it 
took  a  long  while  to  commit  the  government  to  this  idea, 
to  incorporate  it  into  our  governmental  system.  It  was 
a  stupendous  scheme,  involving  very  radical  principles. 
To  illustrate  from  a  scheme  of  an  entirely  opposite 
character,  it  was  as  great  and  as  radical  a  thing  in  its 
time  to  distribute  the  public  lands  among  private  own- 
ers as  it  would  be  today  for  the  government  to  assume 
the  ownership,  say,  of  our  railroads.  Mr.  Clay  was 
entirely  warranted  in  saying  in  the  Senate  in  1832  that 
"no  subject,  which  had  presented  itself  to  the  present, 
or,  perhaps,  any  preceding  Congress,  was  of  greater 
magnitude  than  that  of  the  public  lands.  Long  after 
we  shall  cease  to  be  agitated  by  the  tariff,  ages  after 
our  manufactures  shall  have  acquired  a  stability  and 
perfection  which  will  enable  them  to  cope  successfully 
with  the  manufactures  of  any  other  country,  the  pub- 
lic lands  will  remain  a  subject  of  deep  and  enduring 
interest."  More  of  course  was  involved  in  the  ques- 
tion of  the  public  lands  than  finally  appeared  in  the 
Homestead  Bill  of  1861,  but  the  Homestead  Bill  of  that 
date  was  the  culmination  of  the  long  contention.  When 
Mr.  Lincoln  put  his  signature  to  the  bill  he  gave  effect 


RETURN  TO  LAND  OWNERSHIP      159 

to  one  of  the  great  acts  of  his  administration,  an  act 
which,  as  you  recall,  grants  to  every  applicant,  who  is 
the  head  of  a  family  or  above  the  age  of  twenty-one, 
one  hundred  and  sixty  acres  of  public  lands,  free  of 
charge,  except  for  registration  fees,  on  the  sole  con- 
dition of  actual  settlement  and  cultivation. 

Nothing,  I  repeat,  is  so  unique  or  so  radical  in  the 
relation  of  the  government  to  the  people  as  this  distri- 
bution of  public  lands  for  private  ownership.  Next  in 
importance  to  compulsory  education,  free  of  charge, 
as  an  agency  in  building  the  nation,  stands  this  open 
offer  of  a  homestead. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  persistency  of  the  government 
in  this  policy.  It  is  not  a  transient  idea.  Having 
nearly  exhausted  its  supply  of  productive  lands,  the 
government  is  carrying  out  the  same  policy  in  reclaim- 
ing waste  lands  chiefly  in  the  arid  portions  of  the  coun- 
trj^  By  the  terms  of  the  scheme  for  the  reclamation  of 
arid  and  semi-arid  lands,  which  Mr.  Roosevelt  urged 
in  one  of  his  earlier  messages  and  which  the  editor  of 
the  World's  Work  says  will  prove  to  be  the  great  act 
of  his  administration,  it  is  provided  that  sections  of  from 
40  to  160  acres  are  to  be  sold  at  such  rate  as  shall  cover 
the  cost  of  improvement,  the  ownership  to  be,  as  under 
the  homestead  bill,  in  the  hands  of  the  settler.  The  set- 
tler pays  a  rental  for  ten  years  on  the  irrigation  plant, 
after  which  time  he  becomes  a  stockholder,  to  the  value 
of  his  rights. 

What  is  the  object  of  the  government  in  this  distri- 
bution of  public  lands  for  private  ownership?  The 
primary  object  is  not  revenue.  That  was  the  object 
of  the  system  which  the  present  system  displaced.  The 
primary  object  is  citizenship.    The  government  regards 


160  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

ownership  in  land  as  a  better  guarantee  of  good  citizen- 
ship than  anything  which  it  is  in  its  power  to  effect. 
Otherwise  it  would  be  warranted,  according  to  the  prin- 
ciple on  which  it  is  now  acting,  in  starting  men  in  some 
other  kind  of  business. 

This  is  the  moral  and  political  valuation  which  the 
public  mind,  expressing  itself  through  the  government, 
puts  upon  your  calling.  Other  governments  than  our 
own  go  even  further.  Denmark  has  just  enacted  a  law 
which  enables  any  farm  laborer  between  the  ages  of 
twenty-five  and  fifty  to  borrow  nine  tenths  of  the  value 
of  a  house  and  of  from  three  to  twelve  acres  of  land, 
provided  he  has  saved  the  one  tenth  necessary  for  the 
first  payment.  A  sum  presumably  sufficient  for  this 
state  loan  fund  has  been  set  apart.  So  desirable  above 
any  other  class  are  those  whom  the  state  terms  "house- 
men." 

The  state  is  right,  here  or  anywhere,  in  this  estimate 
which  it  puts  upon  the  moral  value  of  ownership  in  land. 
It  is  a  kind  of  ownership  which  locates  and  identifies  a 
man.  You  cannot  identify  a  man  so  closely  by  stocks 
or  by  any  kind  of  personal  property.  There  is  a  church 
in  New  York  City  which  was  remodeled  at  great 
expense  by  one  of  its  members  who  had  made  largely  by 
a  sudden  rise  in  the  preferred  stock  of  the  Chicago, 
Milwaukee  &  St.  Paul  Railroad.  That  church  is  known 
as  "St.  Paul  preferred,"  but  I  do  not  know  that  the 
donor  ever  gained  a  like  distinction. 

Ownership  in  land  is  the  only  guarantee  of  continuity 
in  the  family  life  apart  from  the  possession  of  very 
great  wealth.  Wealth  can  found  and  perpetuate  a 
family,  but  in  the  ordinary  fortunes  of  business  and  the 
trades  which  take  the  fortunes  of  the  cities  familv  life. 


RETURN  TO  LAND  OWNERSHIP      161 

does  not  last  for  many  generations.  We  take  note  of 
the  abandoned  homes  of  the  country.  You  cannot  take 
note  of  the  abandoned  homes  of  the  city.  The  history 
of  the  average  home  hfe  of  the  city  is  written  in  water. 
The  government,  I  say  again,  is  right  in  the  moral 
valuation  which  it  puts  upon  ownership  in  land.  When 
a  shrewd  man  invests  his  money  in  some  enterprise  of 
possible  advantage  to  the  public,  the  street  looks  on 
doubtfully  and  says  of  him,  in  its  own  slang,  "he  is  not 
doing  this  for  his  health."  That  is  precisely  what  the 
government  is  making  this  investment  for,  for  its 
health,  to  keep  up  its  physical  and  moral  vitality. 

I  call  your  attention  again  to  the  significance  of  the 
private  investments  in  land  which  are  following  the 
invasion  of  the  country  by  the  city.  Every  return  tide 
of  summer  travel  in  New  England  leaves  a  permanent 
deposit  in  the  ownership  of  land.  What  is  the  chief 
significance  of  this  investment?  It  has  a  very  definite 
social  value.  A  man  who  has  an  estate  in  the  country 
gains  thereby  a  certain  distinction.  Ownership  of  a 
place  in  the  country  is  coming  to  count  for  more  socially 
than  ownership  in  the  city.  There  is  seldom  any  finan- 
cial gain  in  it.  The  city  business  has  to  pay  for  the 
country  home,  and  still  more  for  the  farm.  The  return 
goes  back  in  social  value.  It  is  the  one  investment  of 
its  sort  which  pays  socially.  You  put  your  money  into 
a  coal  mine  or  into  a  kerosene  well,  you  get  back  more 
money,  but  no  social  return.  The  investment  of  city 
money  in  country  places  is  a  part  of  a  social  movement 
which  is  of  equal  advantage  to  city  and  country. 

I  am  limiting  myself  in  what  I  am  now  saying  to  one 
point — the  new  social  value  which  is  being  put  upon 
ownership  in  land.     I  am  not  saying  that  there  is  not 

11 


162  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

a  great  difference  between  the  summer  view  of  nature 
in  our  latitude  and  the  view,  or  experience,  of  nature  the 
year  round.  A  traveler  in  Wales  said  to  an  old  farmer, 
who  hved  just  under  Mount  Snowdon,  "How  you  must 
enjoy  Hving  here!"  "Well,"  said  he,  "if  you  had  hved 
here  for  eighty  winters,  as  I  have,  and  had  the  old  fel- 
low a  sneezin'  and  a  spittin'  at  you  most  of  the  time,  you 
wouldn't  think  so  much  of  him  as  you  appear  to."  I 
am  not  saying  either  that  owning  land  is  farming.  But 
the  man  who  gets  into  a  business  half  way  may  add 
something  to  the  value  of  it.  Owning  stock  in  a  rail- 
road is  not  running  the  road,  but  it  helps  a  good  deal 
toward  that  end. 

The  distinction  of  the  purchase  of  land  is  that  if  it 
is  bought  for  residence,  though  only  for  a  part  of  the 
year,  the  purchase  carries  with  it  certain  social  obHga- 
tions.  The  man  who  buys  the  farm  adjacent  to  you 
becomes  thereby  to  a  certain  degree  your  neighbor,  and 
to  a  certain  degree  a  citizen  of  your  town.  You  go 
down  into  Wall  Street  and  buy  stock  in  the  Steel  Trust 
or,  if  you  don't  like  that  investment,  in  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Railroad.  What  social  obhgation  do  you  assume 
by  the  transaction?  How  much  of  a  neighbor  do  you 
become  to  the  man  whose  name  is  registered  next  to 
yours  on  the  books  of  the  company?  In  the  one  case, 
in  the  purchase  of  land,  the  purchase  carries  the  man 
with  it  and  gives  to  the  community  the  partial  advan- 
tage at  least  of  himself  and  of  his  family.  In  the  other 
case,  in  the  purchase  of  stock,  the  purchase  does  not 
carry  the  man  with  it:  he  is  not  recognized,  only  his 
money,  unless  his  purchase  implies  the  backing  of  some 
great  financier.  Just  how  much  this  private  invest- 
ment in  land  for  residences  is  benefiting  the  state  of 


RETURN  TO  LAND  OWNERSHIP      163 

New  Hampshire  financially  I  cannot  say.  It  is  not  the 
immediate  point  which  I  am  urging.  I  am  urging  the 
immediate  point  that  in  so  far  as  that  kind  of  investment 
is  increasing  the  social  value  of  the  state,  it  tells  at  first 
hand  upon  all  owners  of  land.  It  makes  ownership  in 
land,  of  which  of  course  the  chief  object  is  farming, 
more  desirable  in  its  social  relations. 

I  call  your  attention  still  further  to  the  fact,  coming 
now  much  nearer  to  the  business  point  of  view,  that  in 
the  revaluation  of  the  industries,  which  is  all  the  while 
going  on,  farming  is  beginning  to  share  in  its  turn  in 
the  wealth  of  scientific  discovery.  I  speak  of  scientific 
discoveries,  not  of  inventions.  Farming  has  had  its  full 
share  in  the  economies,  in  the  conveniences,  and  in  the 
expansions  made  possible  by  invention.  But  the  great 
scientific  discoveries  have  worked  for  the  most  part  to 
the  advantage  of  other  industries.  Industrialism,  as 
we  term  the  great  working  force  of  the  last  century,  has 
been  the  outgrowth  of  the  development  of  the  physical 
sciences.  It  has  felt  the  continual  impulse  of  discov- 
ery. The  inventions  of  Hargreaves,  Arkwright,  and 
Crompton  could  never  have  built  our  cotton  mills  with- 
out the  discovery  of  Watts.  And  from  the  discovery 
of  steam  as  a  power  to  the  discovery  of  electricity  as  a 
power,  the  benefit  has  gone  pretty  much  one  way. 
Nearly  all  discovered  power  has  been  harnessed  to 
machinery.  The  time  seems  to  be  at  hand  when  agri- 
culture has  as  much  to  expect  relatively  from  the  biol- 
ogist as  the  mechanic  arts  have  already  received  from 
the  physicist.  Both  may  continue  to  expect  much  from 
the  chemist.  We  know,  of  course,  the  indispensable 
value  of  nitrogen  to  the  soil,  especially  to  wornout  soils. 
If  the  scientists  can  succeed  in  restoring  nitrogen  to  the 


164  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

soil  in  sufficient  amount,  with  little  cost  in  money  or 
labor,  then  they  will  revolutionize  farming  as  surely  as 
the  introduction  of  steam  revolutionized  manufactur- 
ing. It  is  too  early  for  even  the  expert  to  say  how 
much  may  come  out  of  present  experiments  in  the  inoc- 
ulation of  soils,  but  it  is  not  too  early  to  say  that  the 
experimentation  now  going  on  is  of  the  sort  which  fol- 
lows discovery,  not  invention  alone.  It  is  as  yet  impos- 
sible to  estimate  the  value  of  the  discovery  of  the 
nitrogen-fixing  power  of  certain  bacteria,  but  if  the  bac- 
teria do  anything  like  the  amount  of  work  laid  out  for 
them,  they  will  rival,  within  their  sphere  of  operation, 
the  work  of  electricity.  In  any  event  we  have  the  right 
to  believe  that  discoveries  are  impending  in  the  biolog- 
ical and  physiological  laboratories  of  the  country  which 
are  to  give  a  new  meaning  to  agriculture.  But  here 
again  I  make  no  estimate  of  the  return  in  dollars  and 
cents.  I  am  more  intent  upon  what  I  may  call  the 
intellectual  impulse  which  is  beginning  to  take  effect. 
During  the  past  generation  it  must  be  conceded  that  the 
greater  intellectual  incentives  have  urged  young  men 
into  other  pursuits  than  farming.  Quite  apart  from 
the  return  in  money,  work  elsewhere  has  been  more 
interesting  than  on  the  farm.  The  proportion  of  brain 
work  to  hand  work  has  been  larger  in  some  of  the  trades 
and  arts  than  in  farming.  It  seemed  to  pay  better  as 
a  matter  of  mental  interest  to  carry  on  one's  technical 
education  towards  some  other  occupation  than  that 
which  the  boy  recalled  from  his  farm  life.  It  now  seems 
as  if  no  occupation  could  be  more  interesting,  from  the 
side  of  investigation  and  experiment  and  advanced 
study,  than  farming.  Science  seems  about  to  open  new 
f)aths  through  our  fields  and  forests  quite  as  enticing  as 


RETURN  TO  LAND  OWNERSHIP      165 

any  which  have  led  us,  thus  far,  toward  the  office  and 
the  shop.  Science  seems  about  to  be  coming  to  the 
rehef  and  refreshment  and  quickening  of  those  who, 
with  a  great  patience,  have  borne  these  long  years  the 
burden  and  heat  of  the  day. 

In  this  brief  discussion  I  have  kept  away  from  two 
questions  which  might  naturally  arise,  but  which  I  am 
not  competent  to  answer;  questions  also  which,  were  I 
competent  to  answer,  I  could  not  discuss  without  leav- 
ing unsaid  the  thing  which  I  wished  most  to  say  in  your 
presence.  If  you  want  to  know,  apart  from  your  own 
experience,  whether  farming  as  now  carried  on  in  New 
Hampshire  pays  or  not,  I  must  refer  you  to  our  hon- 
ored Governor  who,  as  governors  come  and  go,  will 
remain,  I  trust,  at  the  head  of  the  agricultural  interests 
of  the  state.  And  if  you  want  to  know  just  how  much 
better  farming  can  be  made  to  pay  under  better  meth- 
ods, I  must  refer  you  to  my  friend.  President  Gibbs  of 
Durham,  who  will  be  able,  I  am  sure,  to  give  you  a  more 
and  more  satisfying  answer  year  by  year. 

What  I  have  wished  to  say,  and  what  I  have  under- 
taken to  say  is,  that  in  the  revaluation  of  the  callings  of 
men  under  modern  conditions  there  are  a  good  many 
values — new  values,  some  of  them — which  must  be 
taken  into  account  in  answering  the  question  in  its 
broadest  form  concerning  any  calling,  "Does  it  pay,  or 
will  it  pay?"  I  have  tried  to  impress  upon  you  the 
values  which  are  attaching  to  your  calling,  as  seen  under 
one  aspect  of  it,  namely,  the  growing  appreciation  by 
the  public  mind  of  ownership  in  land — moral  and  po- 
litical values  which  are  now  well  recognized,  social 
values  which  are  becoming  apparent,  and  values  which 
the  new  sciences  are  laying  at  your  doors. 


166  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

It  has  been  my  fortune,  my  good  fortune  as  I  think, 
to  have  been  at  work  thus  far  in  what  are  usually  classi- 
fied as  among  the  non-paying  businesses  of  the  world. 
Perhaps  it  is  for  this  reason  that  I  have  been  led  to  put 
a  pretty  high  estimate  upon  certain  values  which  are  in 
danger  of  being  overlooked.  I  should  say,  as  the  result 
of  my  observation,  that  values  may  be  divided  into  two 
classes,  remunerative  and  rewarding,  values  which  point 
to  the  market  price  and  values  which  turn  a  man's 
thoughts  within.  Farming  seems  to  me  to  combine,  in 
its  immediate  future  at  least,  both  of  these  values.  I 
believe  that  it  can  be  made  more  remunerative.  I  am 
sure  that  it  can  be  made  more  rewarding. 

If  I  understand  the  spirit  and  aim  of  your  Order,  you 
propose  to  see  to  it  that  as  the  business  of  farming 
becomes  more  remunerative,  the  life  of  the  farmer  and 
of  his  family  becomes  more  rewarding.  You  stand  for 
the  values  which  lie  in  increasing  respect  for  one's  self 
and  for  one's  calling,  in  quickened  intelligence,  in  wid- 
ening sympathy,  and  in  patriotic  devotion. 

Believing  that  these  are  the  objects  which  you  have 
set  before  yourselves,  I  can  offer  you  no  better  wish 
than  that  you  may  reach  them. 


XII 
"THE  MIND  OF  THE  WAGE  EARNER 


?> 


Address  before  the  Twentieth  Annual  Convention  of  the  Officials 
OF  Labor  Bureaus  op  America,  Hon.  Carroll  D.  Wright,  Pre- 
siding. 

What  I  have  to  say  is  in  the  nature  of  some  reflec- 
tions upon  the  "mind  of  the  wage  earner,"  an  expres- 
sion which  I  borrow  from  the  opening  sentence  of  the 
recent  work  by  John  Mitchell  on  Organized  Labor; 
"The  average  wage  earner  has  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  must  remain  a  wage  earner."*  I  would  not  take 
this  generalization  in  any  unqualified  way.  The 
author  has  himself  qualified  it  by  the  use  of  the  word 
"average."  But  when  reduced  to  its  lowest  terms  it  is, 
I  think,  the  most  serious  statement  which  has  been  made 
of  late  concerning  the  social  life  of  the  country;  for  it 
purports  to  be  the  statement  of  a  mental  fact.  If  Mr. 
Mitchell  had  said  that  in  his  opinion  the  conditions 
affecting  the  wage  earner  were  becoming  fixed  condi- 
tions, that  would  have  been  a  statement  of  grave  import, 
but  quite  different  from  the  one  made.  Here  is  an 
interpretation  of  the  mind  of  the  wage  earner,  from  one 
well  qualified  to  give  an  interpretation  of  it,  to  the  effect 
that  the  average  wage  earner  has  reached  a  state  of 
mind  in  which  he  accepts  the  fixity  of  his  condition. 

*The  paragraph  from  which  this  quotation  is  made  is  as  follows:  "The 
average  wage  earner  has  made  up  his  mind  that  he  must  remain  a  wage  earner. 
He  has  given  up  the  hope  of  a  kingdom  to  come,  where  he  himself  will  be  a 
capitalist,  and  he  asks  that  the  reward  for  his  work  be  given  him  as  a  working 
man.  Singly,  he  has  been  too  weak  to  enforce  his  just  demands,  and  he  has 
sought  strength  in  union,  and  has  associated  himself  into  organizations." 


168  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

Having  reached  this  state  of  mind  the  best  thing  which 
can  be  done  is  to  organize  the  wage  earner  into  a  system 
through  which  he  may  gain  the  greatest  advantage  pos- 
sible within  his  accepted  hmitations.  I  am  not  disposed 
to  take  issue  with  the  conclusion  of  the  argument  ( I  am 
a  firm  believer  in  trade  unions),  but  I  do  not  like  the 
major  premise  of  the  argument.  I  should  be  sorry  to 
believe  that  it  was  altogether  true.  And  in  so  far  as  it 
is  true,  in  so  far,  that  is,  as  we  are  confronted  by  this 
mental  fact,  I  believe  that  we  should  address  ourselves 
to  it  quite  as  definitely  as  to  the  physical  facts  which 
enter  into  the  labor  problem. 

If  "the  average  wage  earner  has  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  must  remain  a  wage  earner,"  we  have  a  new 
type  of  solidarity,  new  at  least  to  this  country.  No 
other  man  among  us  has  made  up  his  mind  to  accept 
his  condition.  The  majority  of  men  are  accepting  the 
conditions  of  their  daily  work,  but  it  is  not  an  enforced 
acceptance.  This  is  true  of  the  great  body  of  people 
engaged  in  farming,  in  mercantile  pursuits,  and  in  most 
of  the  underpaid  professional  employments.  In  the 
social  order  one  of  two  things  must  be  present  to  create 
solidarity,  pride  or  a  grievance.  An  aristocracy  of 
birth  is  welded  together  by  pride.  It  perpetuates  itself 
through  the  increasing  pride  of  each  new  generation. 
An  aristocracy  is  an  inheritance  not  of  wealth,  for  some 
"families"  are  very  poor,  but  of  an  assured  state  of 
mind.  An  aristocrat  does  not  have  to  make  up  his 
mind,  it  has  been  made  up  for  him.  An  aristocracy  is 
in  this  respect  entirely  different  from  a  plutocracy.  A 
plutocracy  is  at  any  given  time  merely  an  aggregation 
of  wealth.  People  are  struggling  to  get  into  it  and 
are  continually  falling  out  of  it.     There  is  no  mental 


"MIND  OF  THE  WAGE  EARNER"     169 

repose  in  a  plutocracy.  It  is  a  restless,  struggling,  dis- 
integrating mass.     It  has  no  inherent  solidarity. 

Next  to  pride  the  chief  source  of  solidarity  is  a  griev- 
ance. The  solidarity  may  be  transient  or  permanent. 
It  lasts  as  long  as  the  sense  of  grievance  lasts.  Some- 
times the  sense  of  grievance  is  worn  out :  then  you  have 
to  invent  some  other  term  than  solidarity  to  express  the 
deplorable  condition  into  which  a  mass  of  people  may 
fall.  But  whenever  the  sense  of  dissatisfaction  is  wide- 
spread and  permanent,  it  deepens  into  a  grievance 
which  creates  solidarity.  The  human  element  involved 
is  at  work  to  intensify  and  perpetuate  itself. 

Now  when  it  is  said  that  "the  average  wage  earner 
has  made  up  his  mind  that  he  must  remain  a  wage 
earner,"  the  saying  assumes  unwillingness  on  his  part, 
the  sense  of  necessity,  and  therefore  a  grievance  which, 
as  it  is  communicated  from  man  to  man,  creates  a  soli- 
darity. If  you  can  eliminate  the  grievance,  you  break 
up  the  solidarity.  The  wage  earner  then  becomes,  like 
the  farmer,  the  trader,  the  schoolmaster,  a  man  of  a 
given  occupation.  The  fact  of  the  great  number  of 
wage  earners  signifies  nothing  in  a  social  sense,  unless 
they  are  bound  together  by  a  grievance,  unless  they  have 
made  up  their  mind  to  some  conclusion  which  separates 
them  from  the  community  at  large  or  the  body  politic. 

We  have  come,  it  seems  to  me,  to  the  most  advanced 
question  concerning  "labor,"  as  we  find  ourselves  in  the 
presence  of  this  great  mental  fact  which  Mr.  Mitchell 
asserts.  What  can  be  done  to  so  affect  "the  mind  of 
the  wage  earner"  that  it  will  not  work  toward  that  kind 
of  solidarity  which  will  be  of  injury  to  him  and  to 
society  ? 

It  is,  of  course,  entirely  obvious  that  a  greater  free- 


170  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

dom  of  mind  on  the  part  of  the  wage  earner  may  be 
expected  to  follow  the  betterment  of  his  condition. 
This  betterment  of  condition  is  the  one  and  final  object 
of  the  trade  union.  I  doubt  if  one-half  of  that  which 
the  trade  union  has  gained  for  the  wage  earner  could 
have  been  gained  in  any  other  way.  I  doubt  if  one- 
quarter  of  the  gain  would  have  been  reached  in  any 
other  way.  Trade  unionism  is  the  business  method  of 
effecting  the  betterment  of  the  wage  earner  under  the 
highly  organized  conditions  of  the  modern  industrial 
world. 

But  trade  unionism  at  its  best  must  do  its  work  within 
two  clear  limitations.  In  the  first  place,  every  advance 
which  it  tries  to  make  in  behalf  of  the  wage  earner  as 
such  finds  a  natural  limit.  The  principle  of  exclusive- 
ness,  of  separate  advantage,  is  a  limited  principle.  At 
a  given  point,  now  here,  now  there,  it  is  sure  to  react 
upon  itself,  or  to  be  turned  back.  Organization  meets 
opposing  organization.  Public  interests  become  in- 
volved. Moral  issues  are  raised.  The  co-operating 
sympathy  of  men,  which  can  always  be  counted  upon  in 
any  fair  appeal  to  it,  turns  at  once  to  rebuke  and 
restraint  if  it  is  abused.  The  wage  earner  in  a  democ- 
racy will  never  be  allowed  to  get  far  beyond  the  average 
man  through  any  exclusive  advantages  which  he  may 
attempt  by  organization. 

In  the  second  place,  trade  unionisms  can  deal  with 
the  wage  earner  only  as  a  wage  earner,  and  he  is  more 
than  a  wage  earner.  There  comes  a  time  when  he  can- 
not be  satisfied  with  wages.  The  betterment  of  his  con- 
dition creates  wants  beyond  those  which  it  satisfies. 
The  growing  mind  of  the  wage  earner,  like  anybody's 
mind,  seeks  to  widen  its  environment.     It  wants  con- 


"MIND  OF  THE  WAGE  EARNER"     171 

tact  with  other  kinds  of  minds.  When  once  it  becomes 
aware  of  its  provinciaHsm  it  tries  to  escape  from  it,  a 
fact  which  is  clearly  attested  in  the  broadening  social 
and  political  relations  of  the  stronger  labor  leaders. 

But  while  I  believe  that  trade  unionism  is  the  busi- 
ness method  of  enlarging  the  mind  of  the  wage  earner 
through  the  betterment  of  his  condition,  I  think  that  the 
time  has  come  for  the  use,  or  adaptation  of  other  means 
which  may  give  it  freedom  and  expansion. 

One  means  of  preventing  a  narrow  and  exclusive 
solidarity  of  wage  earners  is  greater  identification  on 
their  part  with  the  community  through  the  acquisition 
of  local  property.  Mobihty  is,  in  the  earlier  stages  of 
the  development  of  the  wage  earner,  the  source  of  his 
strength.  He  can  easily  change  to  his  interest.  No 
advantage  can  be  taken  of  his  fixity.  He  can  put  him- 
self, without  loss,  into  the  open  market.  He  can  avail 
himself  at  once  of  the  highest  market  price,  provided 
his  change  of  place  does  not  affect  injuriously  his  fellow 
workers  in  the  union,  an  exception  of  growing  concern. 

But  in  the  more  advanced  stages  of  labor  the  wage 
earner  gains  the  privilege  of  localizing  himself,  and  in 
so  doing  he  takes  a  long  step  in  the  direction  of  full  and 
free  citizenship.  A  good  deposit  in  a  savings  bank  adds 
to  his  social  value,  but  that  value  is  greatly  enhanced 
by  exchanging  it  for  a  good  house. 

I  am  aware  that  in  advocating  the  acquisition  of  local 
property  I  touch  upon  the  large  and  as  yet  undeter- 
mined question  of  the  decentralization  of  labor.  If  the 
great  cities  are  to  be  the  home  of  the  industries,  then 
this  idea  can  be  realized  in  only  a  partial  degree  through 
suburban  homes.  But  if  the  industries  are  to  seek  out 
or  establish  smaller  centers,  then  the  wage  earner  has 


172  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

the  opportunity  to  become  more  distinctly  and  more 
conspicuously  a  citizen. 

Another  means  of  giving  freedom  and  expansion  to 
the  wage  earning  poj^ulation,  in  place  of  a  narrow  and 
exclusive  solidarity,  is  by  giving  to  it  ready  access  to 
the  higher  education.  There  is  no  reason  why  the 
former  experience  of  the  New  England  farmer  and  the 
present  experience  of  the  western  farmer  should  not  be 
repeated  in  the  family  of  the  intelligent  wage  earner. 
The  sons  of  the  New  England  farmer  who  were  sent  to 
college  identified  their  families  with  the  state  and 
church,  and  with  all  public  interests. 

They  lifted  the  family  horizon.  I  have  said  that  this 
experience  may  be  repeated  in  the  families  of  the  wage 
earner.  It  is  being  repeated.  Let  me  give  you  an 
illustration  with  which  I  am  familiar.  The  students 
at  Dartmouth  are  divided  about  as  follows,  according 
to  the  occupation  of  their  fathers:  Forty  per  cent  are 
the  sons  of  business  men,  twenty-five  per  cent  of  profes- 
sional men,  fifteen  per  cent  of  farmers ;  of  the  remain- 
ing twenty  per  cent,  more  than  half  are  the  sons  of  wage 
earners.  The  per  cent  from  the  shops  now  equals  that 
from  the  farm.  I  have  no  doubt  that  this  proportion 
will  hold  in  most  of  our  eastern  colleges  and  uni- 
versities. The  home  of  the  wage  earner  is  becoming  a 
recruiting  ground  for  the  higher  education,  which 
no  college  can  afford  to  overlook.  As  Professor 
Marshall,  the  English  economist,  has  said,  "Since  the 
manual  labor  classes  are  four  or  five  times  as  numerous 
as  all  other  classes  put  together,  it  is  not  unlikely  that 
more  than  half  of  the  best  natural  genius  that  is  born 
into  the  country  belongs  to  them."  And  from  this 
statement  he  goes  on  to  draw  the  conclusion  that  "there 


"MIND  OF  THE  WAGE  EARNER"     173 

is  no  extravagance  more  prejudicial  to  the  growth  of 
the  national  wealth  than  that  wasteful  negligence  which 
allows  genius  which  happens  to  be  born  of  lowly  par- 
entage to  expend  itself  in  lowly  work."  So  much  for 
the  necessity  of  fresh,  virile,  and  self-supporting  stock 
to  the  higher  education,  if  it  is  to  discharge  its  obligation 
to  society. 

Virility  is  as  essential  to  educational  progress  as  it  is 
to  industrial  progress.  I  am  in  the  habit  of  saying  that, 
from  an  educational  point  of  view,  it  is  on  the  whole 
easier  to  make  blue  blood  out  of  red  blood,  than  it  is  to 
make  red  blood  out  of  blue  blood. 

The  reaction  from  the  higher  education  upon  the 
family  of  the  wage  earner  is  yet  to  be  seen,  but  no  one 
can  doubt  its  broadening  influence.  As  the  represent- 
atives of  these  families  become  more  numerous  in  our 
colleges  and  universities,  and  as  they  have  time  to  make 
a  place  for  themselves  in  all  the  great  callings,  they  will 
of  necessity  lift  those  whom  they  represent  toward  their 
own  level.  Some  of  them  will  become  captains  of  in- 
dustry. I  believe  that  in  that  capacity  they  will  also 
become  leaders  of  labor.  For,  as  it  seems  to  me,  the  set- 
tlement of  the  relations  of  capital  and  labor  is  to  be 
more  and  more  not  in  the  hands  of  men  who  have  been 
trained  away  from  one  another,  but  in  the  hands  of  men 
who  have  been  trained  toward  one  another.  If  we  are  to 
have  industrial  peace  we  must  have  the  industrial  virtues. 
These  virtues  are  honesty  in  work  and  in  the  wage  of 
work,  absolute  fidelity  on  both  sides  in  keeping  agree- 
ments at  whatever  cost,  and  above  all,  that  sense  of  jus- 
tice which  can  come  only  through  the  ability  of  one  man 
to  put  himself  in  another  man's  place.  This  last  virtue 
ought  to  be  the  product  of  the  intellectual  and  ethical 


174  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

training  of  the  schools.  It  is  their  business  to  teach  us 
how  to  think  rightly,  as  well  as  how  to  feel  rightly  to- 
ward our  fellow  men. 

I  mention  another  source  of  freedom  and  breadth  and 
power  to  the  wage  earner,  a  source  which  is  common  to 
all,  namely,  satisfaction  in  his  work.  The  wage  is  not, 
and  never  can  be,  the  sufficient  reward  of  labor.  This 
is  just  as  true  of  the  salary  as  of  the  wage.  The  differ- 
ence at  present  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  person  on  a  low 
salary  is  apt  to  take  more  satisfaction  in  his  work  than 
the  person  on  a  high  wage — the  school  teacher  on  $800 
or  $1,000  a  year  in  distinction  from  the  mechanic  on  $4 
or  $6  a  day.  The  present  ambition  of  the  higher  wage- 
earner  seems  to  incline  more  to  the  pecuniary  rewards 
of  his  work  than  to  the  work  itself.  Doubtless  this 
tendency  is  due  in  no  slight  degree  to  the  fact  that  the 
wage  earner  is  brought  into  constant  and  immediate 
contact  with  the  money-making  class.  He  sees  that  the 
value  of  the  industry  is  measured  chiefly  by  its  profits. 
Sometimes  the  profits  are  flaunted  in  his  face.  At  all 
times  the  thing  most  in  evidence  to  him  is  money.  I 
deprecate  this  constant  comparison  between  the  work- 
man and  other  men  whose  chief  reward  is  money.  The 
old  time  professions  still  live  and  maintain  their  position 
through  a  certain  detachment  from  pecuniary  rewards. 
The  exceptional  doctor  may  receive  large  fees,  but  his 
profession  forbids  him  to  make  a  dollar  out  of  any  dis- 
covery which  he  may  make  in  medicine.  The  excep- 
tional minister  may  receive  a  large  salary,  but  his  pro- 
fession puts  the  premium  upon  self-denying  work. 
Even  the  law  is  more  distinctively  represented  by  the 
moderate  salary  of  the  average  judge,  than  by  the 
retainer  of  the  counsel  for  a  wealthy  corporation.     The 


"MIND  OF  THE  WAGE  EARNER"     1T5 

skilled  workman,  the  artisan,  belongs  with  these  men, 
not  with  the  money  makers.  In  allowing  himself  to  be 
commercialized  he  enters  upon  a  cheap  and  unsatisfying 
competition.  His  work  is  an  art,  and  he  has  the  possi- 
ble rewards  of  the  artist.  Under  mediaevalism  the 
guild  and  the  university  were  not  far  apart.  I  should 
like  to  see  the  relation  restored  and  extended. 

I  am  not  speaking  in  this  connection  of  the  unskilled 
laborer.  There  is  a  point  below  which  it  is  impossible 
to  idealize  labor.  The  man  who  works  in  ceaseless  and 
petty  monotony,  and  under  physical  discomfort  and 
danger,  cannot  do  anything  more  than  to  earn  an  honest 
hvelihood,  if,  indeed,  he  receives  the  Hving  wage.  But 
he  is  as  far  removed  from  the  advanced  wage  earner  of 
our  day  as  he  is  from  any  of  the  well-supported  and 
well-rewarded  classes.  For  him  we  are  all  bound  to 
work,  and  to  act,  and  to  think,  not  as  an  object  of  our 
charity,  but  as  a  part  of  our  industrial  brotherhood. 
And  whenever  a  great  labor  leader,  be  he  John  Burns 
or  John  Mitchell,  goes  to  his  relief  and  tries  to  give  him 
self-supporting  and  self-respecting  standing,  we  should 
count  it  not  a  duty  but  an  honor  to  follow  the  leading. 
But  equally  do  I  hold  it  to  be  a  duty  and  an  honor, 
on  the  part  of  the  wage  earner  that  as  he  advances  in 
intelligence,  in  pecuniary  reward,  and  in  position,  he 
should  take  his  place  without  any  reservation  whatever 
among  those  who  are  trying  to  meet  the  responsibilities 
which  attach  to  citizenship  in  a  democracy. 

I  have  not  attempted  to  enter  at  all  in  this  brief 
discussion  into  the  technical  aspects  of  your  work, 
but  I  am  aware  that  I  have  covered  ground  en- 
tirely familiar  to  you.  Very  likely  your  broader  judg- 
ment   and    clearer   insight   into   details   may   modify 


176  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

some  of  my  positions  or  make  them  untenable.  But 
viewing  the  present  disposition  and  purpose  of  the  best 
intentioned  leaders  in  the  ranks  of  organized  labor,  with 
many  of  whom  you  have  to  do,  I  am  convinced  that 
their  avowed  object  is  not  commensurate  with  their 
opportunity.  I  am  convinced  that  the  interpretation 
put  upon  the  mind  of  the  wage  earner,  if  it  represents 
a  present  fact,  ought  to  suggest  a  duty  toward  the  mind 
of  labor.  That  duty  is  to  give  it  freedom,  breadth, 
expansion,  to  incorporate  it  into  the  common  mind  of 
aspiration  and  hope,  the  American  type  of  mind.  In 
saying  this  I  do  not  overlook  or  minimize  the  impera- 
tive duty  to  raise  the  lowest  wage  earner  to  the  highest 
place  to  which  he  can  be  lifted,  and  to  give  a  future 
to  his  children  and  to  his  children's  children.  I  would 
urge  in  the  full  apostolic  sense  the  old  apostolic  injunc- 
tion, "We  that  are  strong  ought  to  bear  the  infirmities 
of  the  weak."  But  I  would  not  stop  with  this  duty.  I 
would  make  the  wage  earner  as  he  grows  stronger  a 
helper  all  round,  a  partner  in  all  the  serious  work  of  the 
republic,  an  active  power  in  that  commonwealth  which 
draws  no  line  within  the  wants  or  hopes  of  man. 


XIII 

THE  REPEAL  OF  THE  CHARTER  OF  THE 
NEW  ENGLAND  BREEDERS'  CLUB 

Address  at  a  Meeting  of  Citizens  of  Manchester,  N.  H.,  January 

14,  1906 

The  New  England  Breeders'  Club  is  a  chartered 
institution  of  the  State  of  New  Hampshire.  The  fact 
regarding  it  now  before  the  people  of  the  state  is  the 
fact  of  occupancy.  The  institution  is  here,  established 
within  our  borders,  intrenched  in  its  chartered  rights, 
with  large  investments  already  made,  and  with  prepara- 
tions well  in  hand  for  its  first  season.  The  question  of 
its  admission  to  the  state  is  not  the  question  before  us. 
If  that  question  of  a  year  ago  could  be  recalled,  if  it 
were  still  an  open  question,  if  it  had  ever  been  an  open 
question,  it  would  have  taken,  or  would  now  take,  no 
longer  to  deny  it  a  place  in  the  state  than  it  took  to  give 
it  a  place  in  the  state. 

The  New  England  Breeders'  Club  is  not  here  by  acci- 
dent. The  ease  with  which  it  found  its  way  into  the 
state  is  a  mark  of  the  intelligence  of  its  promoters,  but 
it  does  not  measure  their  intelligence.  Their  experi- 
ence, their  skill,  their  resources  of  every  kind  have 
hardly  as  yet  been  drawn  upon.  These  are  largely  in 
reserve  for  use  in  resisting  any  attempt  at  dislodgment, 
and  if  successful  in  this  resistance,  for  use  in  evading 
the  law.  Let  not  the  people  of  the  state  repeat  the 
mistake  already  made  of  underestimating  the  craft  or 
power  of  this  institution. 

12 


178  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

We  must  approach  the  issue  then  with  which  we  are 
now  confronted  through  this  fact  of  possession.  We 
have  to  deal  with  something  chartered,  estabHshed,  and 
making  ready  to  operate.  Hence  the  question  that  Hes 
at  the  very  threshold  of  all  discussion  and  of  all  effort. 
Have  we  sufficient  law  to  control  this  institution  and 
restrict  its  operations  within  legitimate  ends?  If  we 
have,  if  the  Supreme  Court  shall  so  decide,  provided 
it  is  asked  for  a  decision,  then  the  moral  forces  of  the 
state  must  be  aroused  to  secure  a  vigorous  and  relent- 
less enforcement  of  the  law.  If  we  do  not  have  law 
enough,  law  which  can  be  guaranteed  by  the  sufficient 
authority,  then  we  must  have  more  law,  and  the  sooner 
we  proceed  to  make  it  the  better.  The  recall  of  the 
Legislature  in  special  session  to  repeal  the  charter  of 
the  New  England  Breeders'  Club  would  accomplish  an 
insufficient  result,  should  it  do  this  only,  and  not  proceed 
straightway  to  enact  laws  against  gambling  in  connec- 
tion with  race-tracks,  sufficient  to  prevent  any  illegiti- 
mate operations  of  the  New  England  Breeders'  Club, 
should  it  return  and  incorporate  under  the  general  laws 
of  the  state.  A  special  session  of  the  Legislature 
might  retrieve  a  great  mistake,  and  incidentally  it  might 
do  much  to  clear  the  air  of  personal  suspicions,  but  it 
would  not  do  the  business  of  the  hour,  it  would  not 
bring  its  business  up  to  date,  unless  it  should  give  us 
laws  called  out  by,  and  commensurate  with  the  present 
emergency.  The  immediate  and  ultimate  question,  as 
it  seems  to  me,  in  this  whole  matter  is  the  question  of 
law,  about  which  we  want,  as  nearly  as  possible,  abso- 
lute certainty. 

Here  is  the  significance  of  the  petition  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  Twelve  now  before  the  Governor  and  Coun- 


NEW  ENGLAND  BREEDERS'  CLUB     179 

cil.  The  petitioners  ask  for  an  authoritative  and  deci- 
sive answer  to  this  question.  The  Governor  and  Coun- 
cil, acting  upon  this  petition,  may  act  in  one  of  two 
ways.  They  may  refer  the  question  of  the  sufficiency 
of  existing  laws  to  the  Supreme  Court,  or  declining 
such  reference,  they  may  assume  the  responsibility,  as 
the  executive  officers  of  the  state,  of  trying  to  prove  by 
the  enforcement  of  existing  laws  that  these  are  sufficient 
to  prevent  gambling,  in  the  sense  of  betting  on  the  races, 
in  and  around  the  Salem  race-track.  The  sub-commit- 
tee of  the  Committee  of  Twelve  did  not  understand 
from  the  consideration  of  the  opinion  of  the  Attorney 
General  (kindly  submitted  to  it  before  formal  presenta- 
tion) ,  and  we  do  not  imderstand  from  the  reconsidera- 
tion of  it,  since  it  appeared  in  print,  that  the  Attorney 
General  offered  his  opinion  to  divert  an  appeal  to  the 
Supreme  Court,  nor  do  we  understand  that  the  opinion 
is  urged  to  the  extent  of  guaranteeing  the  sufficiency  of 
the  law  for  the  purposes  of  executive  action.  If  the 
Governor  and  Council  shall  deem  it  wise  to  decHne  a 
reference  to  the  Supreme  Court,  or  if,  in  the  event  of 
reference,  the  Supreme  Court  shall  decline  to  answer, 
or  if,  in  the  event  of  its  consideration  of  the  question 
referred,  it  shall  decide  that  we  do  not  have  sufficient 
law  for  dealing  with  the  operations  of  this  Club,  then 
the  way  seems  to  me  straight  and  clear  for  an  appeal 
for  a  special  session  of  the  Legislature.  The  sub-com- 
mittee virtually  say  this  in  their  petition  to  the  Governor 
and  Council: 

"If  it  shall  be  determined  that  the  means  at  our  dis- 
posal are  inadequate  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  the  situ- 
ation, you  will  then  be  in  position  intelligently  and 
fearlessly  to  decide  the  question  which  will  inevitably 


180  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

arise, — whether  it  is  your  duty  to  call  a  special  session 
of  the  Legislature  to  repair  legislative  errors  and 
omissions  of  the  past,  by  repealing  the  obnoxious  char- 
ter or  removing  its  objectionable  features,  and  by  pro- 
viding laws  which  shall  beyond  all  question  cover  all 
possible  forms  of  race-track  betting,  with  such  adminis- 
trative features  as  shall  make  them  capable  of  prompt 
enforcement,  and  with  such  penalties  as  have  elsewhere 
been  found  effective. 

"Whenever  the  legislature  may  assemble,  it  should 
know  the  precise  evils  to  be  remedied,  and  the  limita- 
tions, if  any,  upon  its  powers  to  remedy  them.  It 
should  not  pass  laws  which  may  afterwards  be  held  to 
be  beyond  its  legislative  powers;  nor  should  it  be 
deterred  from  the  adoption  of  proper  measures  by  the 
cry  that  its  contemplated  action  is  'unconstitutional.' 
It  should  know  the  extent  and  the  limits  of  its  powers, 
and  the  precise  exigencies  of  the  occasion  calling  for 
their  exercise. 

"We  cannot  too  strongly  urge  upon  you  the  impor- 
tance, before  this  corporation  shall  be  established  and 
in  operation  on  New  Hampshire  soil,  and  so  strongly 
intrenched  in  its  position  that  it  can  be  dislodged  only 
by  the  most  strenuous  efforts,  if  at  all,  of  assuring  your- 
selves and  the  people  of  this  state  that  we  are  in  a 
position  to  control  with  a  strong  hand  the  operation  of 
this,  to  us,  unfamiliar  institution." 

Now  that  we  have  really  discovered  what  the  situa- 
tion is, — it  has  been  a  slow  process — it  seems  almost  im- 
possible that  we  should  waste  further  time  in  uncer- 
tainty as  to  the  grounds  of  action.  So  long  as  we  do 
not  know  what  it  is  necessary  to  do,  we  are  weak.  When 
we  know  what  we  can,  or  cannot  do,  further  delay  is 


NEW  ENGLAND  BREEDERS'  CLUB     181 

culpable.  Personally,  I  have  believed  from  the  first, 
and  still  believe  that  the  Legislature  through  which  this 
institution  was  unwittingly  let  into  the  state  should 
have  the  opportunity  of  retrieving  the  mistake.  When 
any  open  minded  man  has  made  a  mistake,  involving 
serious  consequences,  his  first  impulse  is  to  correct  it. 
We  often  get  the  wisest  actions  from  those  who  in 
their  simplicity  are  closest  to  nature.  An  old  colored 
preacher,  to  whom  it  was  pointed  out,  as  he  came  down 
from  the  pulpit,  that  he  had  given  the  wrong  meaning  to 
his  text,  upon  being  convinced  of  his  error,  went  straight 
back  into  the  pulpit  and  cried  out  in  a  great  humihty, 
"The  Lord  help  dis  old  man  to  unpreach  dat  sermon." 
Let  us,  by  all  means,  if  it  be  possible,  give  the  Legisla- 
ture the  chance  to  uncharter  this  institution.  And  hav- 
ing done  this,  let  it  improve  the  occasion  to  make 
laws,  if  we  need  them,  which  shall  be  equal  to  this  or 
any  like  emergency.  And  as  I  intimated  a  moment 
ago,  I  believe  that  the  recalling  of  the  Legislature  will 
give  the  fit  opportunity  for  direct  personal  statement 
on  the  part  of  men  who  have  no  reason  for  concealing 
the  truth,  but  who  lack  the  fit  occasion  for  personal 
statement. 

Whatever  interpretation,  however,  the  Governor  and 
Council  may  put  upon  this  opinion,  or  upon  the  argu- 
ment of  the  petitioners,  for  reference  to  the  Supreme 
Court,  we  are  not  to  anticipate  that  there  will  be  any 
desire  on  their  part  to  evade  the  broad  and  serious  ques- 
tion before  them,  and,  therefore,  pending  their  action, 
we  may  proceed  to  address  ourselves  as  citizens  to  the 
underlying  question, — Why  should  we  concern  our- 
selves about  the  chartering  of  the  New  England 
Breeders'  Club  and  the  establishment  of  its  race-track 
at  Salem? 


182  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

It  is  not  an  agreeable  task  for  any  man  to  turn  aside 
from  his  chosen  and  urgent  work  to  take  up  some  other- 
wise neglected  duty  which  belongs,  in  common,  to  aU 
citizens.  But  unless  men  are  willing  to  do  their  duty  as 
citizens,  in  an  emergency,  I  do  not  know  how  the  Gov- 
ernment can  do,  or  can  be  expected  to  do,  its  duty 
effectively.  Law  cannot  take  command  of  new  moral 
situations,  except  as  it  can  act  in  a  bracing  moral 
atmosphere.  The  supporting  power  must  be  an  aroused 
public  sentiment.  The  motives  which  may  create  this 
public  sentiment  will  vary,  certainly  in  their  intensity. 
In  this  case  many  citizens  will  act  chiefly  for  the  honor 
of  the  state  or  for  the  public  good.  Others,  among 
whom  you  are  to  be  reckoned,  have  an  added  motive 
from  the  danger  which  lies  at  your  very  threshold. 
There  is  not  a  city  in  the  lower  Merrimack  which  is  not 
threatened  by  this  invasion.  There  is  not  a  shop,  or  a 
store,  or  an  office,  or  a  home  in  all  this  region  which  is 
not  in  danger  from  this  new  and  fascinating  dishonesty. 

And  yet  a  good  many  citizens  are  asking,  why  should 
we  concern  ourselves  about  this  business?  Why  not 
wait  and  see  what  will  happen?  What  is  there  which 
calls  for  this  agitation  in  advance? 

It  is  not  possible  to  make  men  feel  a  future  calamity. 
No  prophet  has  ever  been  able  to  do  that.  But  it  ought 
to  be  possible  to  undeceive  thinking  men  who  are  indif- 
ferent to  an  impending  danger,  and  to  prepare  their 
minds  for  action  when  the  time  for  action  arrives.  As 
one,  therefore,  of  those  who  have  been  asked  to  investi- 
gate the  organization  and  purpose  of  the  New  England 
Breeders'  Club,  and  whose  duty  must  largely  rest  at 
this  point,  I  will  tell  you  briefly,  though  at  the  risk  of 
repetition,  why  I  beheve  that  this  Club  should  not  be 


NEW  ENGLAND  BREEDERS'  CLUB     183 

quietly  accepted  as  a  chartered  institution  of  the  State 
of  New  Hampshire. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  evidently  not  what  it  claims 
to  be.  It  claims  to  be  an  organization  for  "raising, 
importing,  and  improving  the  breed  of  horses  and  other 
domestic  animals  in  the  state  of  New  Hampshire." 
That  is  not,  and  never  was,  its  essential  object.  It 
introduced  itself  into  the  state  as  an  organization  under 
the  management  of  New  Hampshire  men.  It  proved 
to  be  an  importation  from  New  York.  It  offered  a 
charter,  apparently  proof  against  gambling  in  all  forms. 
Its  charter  was  virtually  a  copy  of  a  New  York  law 
devised  to  allow  and  sanction  gambling,  under  which 
eight  race  courses  in  the  state  of  New  York  have  been  in 
successful  operation  for  ten  years  as  gambling  institu- 
tions. The  presumption  created  by  this  process  of 
studied  concealment  and  misrepresentation  cannot  be 
explained  away  to  the  satisfaction  of  any  honest  minded 
man.  When  a  man  has  been  imposed  upon,  when  a 
man's  state  has  been  imposed  upon,  he  is  in  no  mood  for 
smooth  words. 

In  the  second  place,  not  only  is  the  New  England 
Breeders'  Club  evidently  not  what  it  claims  to  be,  it  is 
in  part  only  what  it  appears  to  be.  It  appears  to  be  an 
organization  for  legitimate  sport,  and  that  it  is  in  part ; 
and  in  so  far  as  it  is  that  we  have  no  concern  with  it. 
Personally  I  may  go  further  than  some  of  you  in  my 
advocacy  of  out-of-door  sports.  I  believe  in  them. 
Recreation  is  not  enough.  Sport,  organized  sport,  has 
a  legitimate  place  in  our  modern  life.  The  game  which 
interests  the  public  as  well  as  the  player  is  on  the  whole 
a  healthy  stimulus.  I  do  not  say  that  our  great  public 
games  are  free  from  evils.     I  do  not  say  that  our  aca- 


184  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

demic  sports  are  free  from  evils.  I  am  not  here  to  utter 
cant.  But  I  do  claim  that  there  is  a  vast  difference 
between  an  evil,  like  that  of  betting,  which  may  be  inci- 
dental to  any  contest  (men  may  bet  on  an  election) ,  and 
that  same  evil  organized  into  a  sport  and  made  by  the 
majority  the  sport  itself.  And  this  organization  of 
the  evil  of  betting  into  the  sport  until  it  becomes  the 
chief  element  in  the  sport  itself,  is  what  the  race  track  at 
Salem  means.  The  five  dollar  enclosure  for  betting  is 
just  as  much  a  part  of  the  institution  as  the  track  itself. 
I  do  not  know  that  the  proprietors  and  managers  of  the 
New  England  Breeders'  Club  have  ever  sought  to  con- 
ceal the  fact  that  they  propose  to  bet  on  the  races,  they 
and  their  friends.  What  they  propose  avowedly  to  do 
is  to  retire  book-making  and  pool-selling.  Book-mak- 
ing and  pool-selling  make  betting  democratic  and  there- 
fore vulgar.  The  distinction  in  the  avowed  code  of  the 
club  is  a  social  distinction.  Within  the  enclosure  bet- 
ting ;  without  the  enclosure  gambling. 

It  is  just  this  attempted  distinction  between  vice 
which  is  vulgar  and  vice  which  is  gilded,  of  which  the 
American  people  are  becoming  weary.  Social  pharisa- 
ism  is  not  a  whit  better  than  religious  pharisaism. 
Things  do  not  change  their  nature  by  changing  their 
name.  Gambling  does  not  cease  to  be  gambling  through 
any  sifting  of  the  people  who  gamble,  nor  through  any 
refinement  of  the  art.  When  District  Attorney  Jerome 
attacks  and  breaks  up  Canfield's,  he  attacks  and  breaks 
up  a  gambling  house  for  gentlemen. 

There  is  moreover  a  certain  recklessness  in  the  use  of 
social  influence  which  is  characteristic  of  organizations 
like  the  New  England  Breeders'  Club.  It  is  a  part  of 
the  unseemly  vanity  of  the  idle  rich  and  of  their  craze 


NEW  ENGLAND  BREEDERS'  CLUB     185 

for  publicity.  Why  should  this  club  set  itself  up  at  a 
point  in  this  state  accessible  to  nearly  one  half  the  pop- 
ulation of  New  England  ?  Why  should  this  club  plant 
itself  in  the  midst  of  the  industries  of  the  lower  Merri- 
mack? Why  should  its  devotion  to  betting,  under  the 
guise  of  sport,  be  carried  out  regardless  of  the  effect  of 
its  practices  upon  the  vast  numbers  whom  it  expects  to 
attract  to  its  grounds? 

One  cannot  go  far  in  this  questioning  about  reckless- 
ness without  going  over  into  the  suspicion  of  purpose 
and  design ;  but  accepting  for  the  moment  these  men  at 
their  best,  allowing  them  the  benefit  of  their  denials, 
what  are  they  here  for?  By  what  rights,  private  or 
social,  or  pubhc,  do  they  introduce  their  corrupting 
speculation,  and  unwholesome  excitement?  By  what 
right  do  they  change  the  atmosphere  of  this  valley  from 
that  of  sober  but  cheerful  industry  to  that  of  unrest, 
speculation,  and  unwholesome  excitement?  By  what 
right  do  they  flaunt  their  superfluous  and  idle  wealth  in 
the  face  of  the  toiling  earners  of  the  daily  bread?  It  is 
just  such  reckless,  wasteful  business  as  this,  which  is 
causing  men  elsewhere  to  ask  what  society  calls  dan- 
gerous questions,  to  think  what  society  calls  dangerous 
thoughts,  to  do  what  society  calls  dangerous  things. 

What  appears  to  be  a  sport,  and  what  is  in  part  a 
sport,  is  in  reality,  and  in  the  greater  part,  nothing  but 
gambling ;  and  the  greater  the  social  distinction  attach- 
ing to  it,  the  greater  the  temptation.  There  is  no  evil 
spirit  which  can  be  set  loose  in  a  community  which  will 
do  its  work  so  quickly,  so  surely,  and  so  thoroughly  as 
the  gambling  spirit.  It  is  the  spirit  which  seeks 
entrance  into  this  community  under  the  most  deceptive 
and  attractive  guise.     I  believe  that  the  majority  of 


186  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

men  in  this  state  who  want  the  sport  do  not  want 
it  imbedded  in  a  gambling  institution.  I  believe 
that  among  the  men  who  might  not  hesitate  to 
bet  at  a  race,  there  are  many  who  as  citizens  of  this 
state  do  not  want  this  institution  here.  For  the  differ- 
ence is  wide,  and  manifest,  between  an  evil  which  may 
be  incidental  to  any  sport,  and  that  same  evil  (in  this 
case  betting),  organized  into  a  given  sport,  and  made 
the  essential  part  of  the  sport  itself. 

In  the  third  place,  contrary  to  what  it  claims  to  be, 
contrary  also  in  greater  part  to  what  it  appears  to  be, 
the  New  England  Breeders'  Club  is  a  commercialized 
institution,  belonging  by  its  history  and  its  affiliations 
to  a  great  gambling  system  operating  throughout  the 
country.  This  is  no  ordinary  gentlemen's  club,  made 
up  of  summer  residents,  for  purposes  of  private  amuse- 
ment. It  sets  up  an  amusement,  at  the  moral  expense 
of  the  public,  for  private  gain.  The  gambling  business 
of  the  country,  so  far  as  it  is  associated  with  racing  asso- 
ciations and  jockey  clubs,  is  a  monopoly,  or  if  it  is  not 
a  monopoly  it  is  not  for  lack  of  effort  to  make  it  such. 
Here  lay  in  part  the  significance  of  President  Harri- 
son's veto  of  a  bill  similar  in  character  to  the  charter  of 
the  New  England  Breeders'  Club.  It  is  this  monop- 
olistic system  which  is  trying  the  doors  of  our  legisla- 
tures as  occasion  may  offer,  the  system  which  has 
recently  suffered  repulse  in  the  states  of  Pennsylvania, 
Ohio,  and  Missouri.  Its  principles  are  the  same  every- 
where; its  methods  vary  only  according  to  its  evasions 
of  law ;  the  men  who  operate  the  system  are  in  good  part 
the  same.  The  Governors  of  the  New  England 
Breeders'  Club  are  well  known  figures  on  the  various 
race-tracks  of  the  country  where  gambling  flourishes 


NEW  ENGLAND  BREEDERS'  CLUB     187 

unchecked.  The  subordinates  who  manage  affairs  at 
the  races,  and  preside  at  the  various  functions,  are  inter- 
changeable. And  yet  we  are  asked  to  beheve  that  in 
the  setting  up  of  this  establishment  at  Salem,  at  an 
expense  equal  to  that  of  other  properties  of  a  like 
nature,  we  are  asked  to  believe  that  in  the  operation  of 
this  particular  part  of  the  system,  the  principles  which 
obtain  elsewhere  are  to  be  disowned,  the  methods  which 
obtain  elsewhere  are  to  be  discarded,  and  that  this  estab- 
lishment is  to  be  operated  with  a  very  great  doubt  as 
to  its  being  able  to  make  the  ends  meet,  but  with  a  view 
at  any  cost  of  furnishing  healthful  amusement  for  the 
people  in  the  neighborhood  of  Salem ! 

I  do  not  care  to  presume  upon  your  time,  or  seem  to 
distrust  your  intelligence,  by  further  exposition  of  the 
character  of  this  institution  which  has  begun  its  char- 
tered existence  in  our  state.  When  once  we  are  con- 
vinced of  the  character  of  an  institution  of  this  sort, 
nothing  is  gained  by  familiarity  with  its  more  repulsive 
details.  There  is  this,  however,  to  be  said,  that  through 
the  invasion  of  our  state  by  this  great  gambling  system, 
we  are  brought  into  sympathy  with  other  states  which 
have  suffered  or  are  suffering  at  its  hands.  Certainly 
if  it  should  come  into  operation  here,  you  would  read 
with  different  eyes  the  record  of  defalcations  and  sui- 
cides, of  loss  of  employment  and  failures  in  business, 
and  of  the  breaking  up  of  homes,  which  follows  the 
annual  season  of  every  chartered  race-track  in  the  state 
of  New  York — the  models  of  the  course  at  Salem.  God 
forbid  that  our  sympathy  should  wait  upon  experience. 
We  are  also  reminded  to  the  degree  of  impression,  as 
we  begin  to  realize  the  grasp  which  this  institution 
already  has  upon  our  state,  of  the  immense  power  of 


188  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

corrupt  and  corrupting  wealth.  This  power  is  no 
longer  an  abstraction.  We  have  not  yet  shaken  it  off. 
The  test  is  yet  to  come.  It  may  be  humiliating  to  us,  it 
is  humiliating  to  us,  as  citizens  of  this  state  that  for  any 
reason  New  Hampshire  was  chosen  as  the  seat  of  the 
New  England  Breeders'  Club.  Let  the  sense  of  humil- 
iation remain  upon  us  till  we  have  taken  measures  suffi- 
cient to  recover  the  honor  of  the  state. 


XIV 

THE    TREATY    OF    PORTSMOUTH    IN 

RETROSPECT 

Address  at  the  Unveiling  of  Commemorative  Tablet  in  the  Navy 
Yard  at  Kittery,  Me.,  September  5,  1906 

The  unveiling  of  the  tablet  which  records  the  date  of 
the  signing  of  the  Treaty  of  Portsmouth,  brings  back 
the  day  itself  with  a  distinctness  which  is  almost  vivid. 
The  days  which  had  inmiediately  preceded,  as  many  of 
you  will  recall,  had  been  days  of  grave  suspense. 
Enough  was  known  outside  the  sessions  of  the  envoys 
to  make  it  evident,  not  only  that  the  questions  at  issue 
were  becoming  more  and  more  acute,  but  also  that  the 
personal  feeling  attending  the  discussion  was  becoming 
more  and  more  tense.  The  representatives  of  the  press, 
especially  those  from  abroad,  who  had  been  trained  to 
study  and  interpret  the  various  phases  and  moods  of 
diplomatic  controversy,  gave  us  naturally,  as  the  result 
of  their  daily  observations,  changing  and  often  conflict- 
ing reports.  The  procedure,  as  it  appeared  to  those 
without,  was  not  a  slow,  steady  advance  from  point  to 
point  toward  a  probable  conclusion,  but  an  uncertain 
though  strenuous  effort  which  might  at  any  moment  ter- 
minate in  disheartening  failure.  No  one  knew  the 
actual  powers  of  the  envoys  themselves,  what  influ- 
ences, financial  or  other,  might  interfere  with  their  per- 
sonal choices,  or  what  absolute  authority  might  inter- 
pose to  command  their  decision.  Every  one  interested 
had  to  take  counsel  with  himself  as  best  he  could,  accord- 


190  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

ing  to  his  reasoning  based  on  the  course  of  events,  or 
according  to  the  scanty  though  suggestive  bits  of  infor- 
mation which  were  continually  coming  to  hand,  or 
according  to  his  own  temperament.  Of  all  the  persons, 
whom  I  chanced  to  know  who  were  indirectly  concerned 
with  the  proceedings,  or  who  were  close  spectators,  the 
only  one  who  was  consistently  hopeful  to  the  very  end 
was  his  Excellency,  Governor  McLane. 

When,  therefore,  the  announcement  of  the  signing  of 
the  Treaty  came  with  such  startling  suddenness,  the  joy 
of  the  news  was  that  of  a  great  relief  rather  than  that 
of  an  assured  result.  The  feehng  of  suspense  simply 
gave  way  to  anxiety.  Men  began  to  ask  what  was  the 
meaning  of  the  settlement?  The  terms  of  the  settle- 
ment were  evident,  what  did  they  mean?  Would  the 
nations,  rulers  and  peoples  be  satisfied  with  the  agree- 
ment ?  Was  the  agreement  to  be  peace,  substantial  and 
lasting  peace? 

The  answer  to  this  question  is  very  much  clearer  in 
the  retrospect  of  the  year  than  it  was  at  the  time. 
When  the  treaty  was  signed,  Russia  was  suffering  too 
keenly  from  defeat  to  allow  any  terms  of  settlement  to 
be  acceptable.  The  people  of  Japan  were  expecting  an 
indemnity,  and  anything  less  in  the  way  of  settlement 
was  sure  to  be  a  bitter  disappointment.  Whatever 
judgment  may  be  passed  upon  the  diplomatic  struggle, 
it  cannot  be  said  that  the  result  of  it,  as  expressed  in  the 
terms  of  the  treaty,  was  popular  with  either  nation. 
The  reaction,  affecting  the  immediate  fortune  of  the 
chief  agents,  was  in  fact  pathetic.  Baron  Komura 
encountered  marked  popular  disfavor  upon  his  return, 
though  his  action  was  officially  approved,  and  subse- 
quently confirmed  by  his  appointment  as  ambassador 


THE  TREATY  OF  PORTSMOUTH      191 

to  England.  Count  Witte,  in  spite  of  his  brilliant 
diplomatic  service,  was  not  acclaimed  by  the  people  of 
Russia  on  his  return,  and  he  did  not  long  retain  the  full 
confidence  of  the  Czar.  The  interest  which  each  had 
awakened  by  his  personality — Komura,  reserved,  seri- 
ous, the  scholar  in  diplomacy;  Witte,  accessible,  skill- 
fully bold  and  aggressive,  the  man  of  affairs — :^he  inter- 
est which  each  had  awakened  and  which  followed  after 
both,  was  that  of  respectful  and  affectionate  sympathy, 
as  each  went  his  way  to  new  responsibiHties  and  to  new 
trials.  In  no  sense  could  any  one  have  affirmed  at  the 
time  of  its  acceptance  that  the  treaty  was  a  finality. 

But  what  might  not  have  been  accomplished  by  the 
treaty  through  its  terms  of  settlement,  the  treaty  did 
accomplish  as  a  fact.  It  ended  the  immediate  confllict, 
and,  in  so  doing,  it  became  a  new  point  of  departure  for 
both  Russia  and  Japan.  It  set  free  for  each  people  the 
internal  forces  which  were  ready  for  action.  Immedi- 
ately upon  the  adoption  of  the  treaty  each  nation 
became  entirely  preoccupied  with  its  own  affairs. 
Russia  and  Japan  are  today  as  clearly  unrelated  to  one 
another  by  dangerous  questions  of  mutual  concern  as 
any  two  nations  of  Europe.  The  preoccupation  of 
each  nation  with  its  own  imperative  concerns  is  the  guar- 
antee of  peace,  a  condition  made  possible  and  brought 
into  evidence  by  the  treaty. 

I  quote  from  a  recent  letter  of  a  correspondent  in 
Japan,  who  has  returned  to  his  native  land  after  an 
absence  of  ten  years:  "The  general  appearance,"  he 
says,  "(in  all  things)  is  that  the  nation  is  straining  its 
nerves  to  do  more  than  it  can  actually  do,  simply  because 
it  must.  There  are  weak  spots  on  every  side,  and  there 
is  hardly  any  surplus  power  in  anything."     It  is  evi- 


192  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

dent  that  the  spirit  of  sacrifice,  which  was  so  magnifi- 
cently illustrated  in  the  war,  must  be  still  further  shown 
in  the  recovery  and  advancement  of  the  nation.  The 
part  which  Japan  aspires  to  take  in  the  development  of 
the  Far  East  requires  a  corresponding  development  of 
her  own  resources.  Nothing  but  years  of  peaceful 
development  can  make  Japan  the  arbiter  of  the  East. 

The  task  before  Russia  seems  more  formidable  and 
more  exacting.  It  is  possible  to  measure  the  economic 
reconstruction  of  a  nation.  It  is  impossible  to  calculate 
in  any  certain  terms  the  political  regeneration  of  a  peo- 
ple. The  political  regeneration  of  Russia  may  come 
through  revolution.  It  may  come  through  the  orderly 
processes  of  legislation.  In  either  event  the  problem 
can  be  solved  only  by  the  protracted  concentration  of 
the  nation  upon  itself.  No  diversion  of  power,  as 
through  a  foreign  war,  can  meet  the  issue.  The  imme- 
diate future  of  Russia  is  pledged  to  its  own  political  life. 

So  far  then  as  the  Treaty  of  Portsmouth  has  given  to 
the  world  a  guarantee  of  peace,  it  has  furnished  that 
guarantee  chiefly  through  the  opportunity  and  the 
incentive  which  it  gave  the  two  great  nations  at  war  to 
go  their  separate  ways,  in  fulfillment  of  their  imperative 
individual  necessities. 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  the  return  to  our  own  nation 
for  the  part  which  it  took  in  bringing  about  the  Treaty 
of  Portsmouth?  We  have  made  as  a  nation  two  ven- 
tures into  the  larger  life  of  the  world,  first  when  by  the 
fortune,  if  not  by  the  accident  of  war,  we  took  posses- 
sion of  the  Philippines,  and  again  when  at  the  invitation 
of  the  President  of  the  United  States  the  warring  states 
of  the  East  were  brought  together  on  this  spot  to  confer 
upon  the  conditions  of  peace.     I  have  spoken  of  the 


THE  TREATY  OF  PORTSMOUTH      193 

Conference  as  the  result  of  the  invitation  of  the  Presi- 
dent. It  was  more  than  an  invitation  which  he  sent  to 
the  rulers  of  Russia  and  Japan.  It  was  an  earnest 
though  dignified  appeal  in  behalf  of  the  nations  them- 
selves, and  in  behalf  of  the  wide  kinsliip  of  nations.  I 
cannot  overestimate  the  educating  power  of  this  action, 
with  its  attendant  result,  upon  the  people  of  this  coun- 
try. In  our  occupancy  of  the  Philippines  we  assumed 
great  obligations,  international  as  well  as  national.  We 
put  ourselves  under  the  eye  of  the  world,  where  our 
behavior  would  be  judged  by  standards  new  to  us.  The 
responsibility  which  we  then  undertook  has  had  increas- 
ingly a  sobering  effect  upon  the  nation. 

The  effect  of  the  bringing  hither  of  the  representa- 
tives of  Russia  and  Japan  upon  so  momentous  an  errand 
was  different.  In  a  superficial  way  it  appealed  to  our 
imagination,  perhaps  to  our  vanity.  But  in  a  far 
deeper  sense,  at  least  to  all  thoughtful  minds,  it  broad- 
ened the  vision  of  this  people  and  taught  us  the  great 
lesson  of  humility.  The  nations,  which  came  together 
on  this  spot  through  their  envoys,  represented  races 
which  have  in  their  keeping,  perhaps  as  much  as 
we  or  our  kindred,  the  future  of  the  world.  In  the 
modern  sense  they  are  yet  nations  in  the  making.  It  is 
from  the  nations  which  are  still  in  the  making  that  we 
have  most  to  fear,  or  to  hope,  as  it  is  from  the  nations 
that  are  made,  the  finished  nations,  that  we  have  most 
to  learn.  History  teaches  that  power  lies  with  the  last 
comer.  It  is  the  unspent  force  among  nationalities  or 
races  which  has  in  it  the  latent  power  of  rule.  Such  a 
force  may  suffer  waste  as  in  Russia,  it  may  require  econ- 
omy as  in  Japan,  but  it  belongs  to  the  future. 

It  was  a  timely  and  much  needed  lesson  taught  the 

13 


194  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

American  people  by  the  coming  together  of  these  rising 
peoples,  that  not  we  alone  belong  to  the  future.  It  was 
a  timely  and  much  needed  lesson  which  came  to  us  from 
actual  contact  with  national  characteristics  which  we 
had  not  understood,  and  from  actual  contact  with  na- 
tional virtues  to  which  we  had  not  attained.  I  doubt  if 
any  act  of  hospitality  on  the  part  of  any  government 
ever  gave  back  so  large  a  return  in  the  instruction  of  its 
people,  as  the  invitation  of  President  Roosevelt  to  the 
powers  of  Russia  and  Japan  to  convene  upon  this  ter- 
ritory, and  to  settle  their  contention  in  the  presence  of 
this  people.  The  tablet  which  blends  so  happily  the  em- 
blems of  the  United  States  with  those  of  Russia  and 
Japan  illustrates  none  too  strongly  the  international 
bearing  and  results  of  the  Treaty  of  Portsmouth. 

I  congratulate  you.  Rear  Admiral  Mead,  that  the 
event  which  we  commemorate  today  took  place  during 
your  period  of  service,  and  under  your  immediate  care, 
as  Commandant  of  the  Navy  Yard.  I  congratulate  all 
of  you  who  through  official  or  personal  relation  to  this 
locahty  have  thereby  been  identified  with  so  beneficent 
and  so  far  reaching  an  event.  It  is  yet  to  be  written, 
but  the  page  of  history  on  which  it  shall  be  written  lies 
open,  that  here,  within  these  walls,  business  was  trans- 
acted, which  gave  new  life  to  nations  coming  hither  from 
afar,  and  which  taught  the  people  of  the  land  among 
whom  for  a  little  time  they  sojourned  how  to  measure 
their  own  place  beside  the  coming  peoples  of  the  world. 


XV 

WHAT  HAS  PATRIOTISM  THE  RIGHT  TO 
DEMAND    OF    EDUCATION? 

Address  at  Union  League  Club,  February  22,  1906 

I  think  that  you  will  agree  with  me  as  I  say  that  patri- 
otism camiot  be  completely  defined  in  terms  of  senti- 
ment. Patriotism  is  obedience.  When  the  duty  is 
instant  and  definite  it  means,  of  course,  the  surrender  of 
self  to  country.  Patriotism  is  then  an  act,  involving  all 
the  consequences  to  the  individual  of  an  act.  But  when 
we  cannot  satisfy  patriotism  by  an  act,  then  it  follows 
hard  after  us  with  its  inexorable  question  as  to  how  we 
are  to  conduct  ourselves  generally,  how  we  are  to  man- 
age our  affairs,  how  we  are  to  set  our  ambitions  with  a 
view  to  the  good  of  the  country.  When  patriotism  does 
not  speak  the  language  of  the  imperative,  as  in  times  of 
national  peril,  its  most  effective  language  is  the  lan- 
guage of  the  interrogative,  How  about  your  business, 
your  influence,  your  thinking  in  its  every-day  bearing  on 
the  public  welfare? 

It  is  in  this  spirit  that  I  interpret  the  question  to 
which  I  am  to  speak : — What  has  patriotism  the  right  to 
demand  of  education?  I  accept  the  question  as  per- 
sonal to  myself  and  to  men  of  my  business.  I  do  not 
feel  called  upon  to  tell  you,  who  are  in  other  kinds  of 
business,  what  patriotism  demands  of  you.  Probably 
if  I  should  attempt  the  task  you  might  recognize  the 
fitness  of  three-fourths  of  what  I  should  say;  but  criti- 


196  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

cism,  like  art,  to  be  effective  must  be  all  right,  never  off 
key  or  tone.  As  a  bright  woman  once  said  to  Mr. 
Smnner,  who  in  his  omniscience  was  criticising  a  musical 
performance,  "Why,  Charles,  what  are  you  talking 
about;  if  you  should  try  to  sing  Old  Hundred  you 
couldn't  sing  more  than  seventy-five." 

So,  then,  as  for  myself  and  for  men  of  my  kind,  what 
does  patriotism  demand  of  us  in  our  business  of  educa- 
tion, especially  of  the  higher  education? 

First  of  all,  I  should  say  that  patriotism  has  the  right 
to  demand  of  us  that  we  do  our  best  to  keep  not  only 
the  idea,  but  the  fact  of  democracy,  free  and  open  to  all 
men.  Education  is  a  leveling-up  process.  There  are 
other  like  processes.  But  some  of  them  have  already 
broken,  and  are  no  longer  working  as  formerly  upon  the 
lower  ranges.  The  most  serious  word  which  has  been 
written  in  our  generation,  in  so  far  as  it  declares  a  fact, 
is  the  opening  sentence  in  the  recent  book  of  John 
Mitchell  on  "Organized  Labor" :  "The  average  wage- 
earner  has  made  up  his  mind  that  he  must  remain  a 
wage-earner."  If  this  be  true,  whatever  may  be  the 
cause,  then  organized  industry  has  ceased  to  be  the  aid 
and  helper  of  democracy.  For  democracy  requires,  as 
the  first  necessity  of  its  existence,  mobility  of  condition 
as  opposed  to  fixity  of  condition.  The  moment  the 
average  man  of  any  class  ceases  to  aspire,  and  accepts 
his  condition  as  fixed,  that  moment  he  ceases  to  express 
in  himself  the  spirit  of  democracy. 

Turning  to  education,  and  especially  to  the  higher 
education,  I  find  that  the  leveling-up  process  is  at  work 
here  without  any  break.  The  mental  movement  is 
going  on  through  the  ranks  of  the  people,  and  the  path 
of  intellectual  progress  is  open  from  the  lowest  place  to 


THE  RIGHTS   OF  PATRIOTISM       19T 

the  highest.  There  is  not  a  college  or  a  university,  so 
far  as  I  know,  however  richly  it  may  be  endowed,  which 
acknowledges  any  distinction  except  that  of  brains,  and 
which  is  not,  therefore,  as  much  the  home  of  the  poor 
man  as  of  the  rich  man.  Even  the  incidents  of  the 
higher  education  tend  to  equalize  men.  One  justifica- 
tion for  athletics  is  that  they  are  tremendously  demo- 
cratic. College  estimates  and  college  honors  go,  as  the 
almost  invariable  rule,  with  the  man.  Indeed,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  the  interests  of  the  higher  education  are 
bound  up  in  democracy.  Our  colleges  and  universities 
must  have  their  recruiting  stations  everywhere,  at  every 
point  of  mental  possibility,  otherwise  they  will  be  scant 
in  intellectual  power.  The  intellectual  life  must  have  its 
roots  in  virility.  I  have  had  occasion  to  say  elsewhere — 
it  may  be  proper  to  say  it  in  your  presence — that  from 
an  educational  point  of  view  it  is  on  the  whole  easier  to 
make  blue  blood  out  of  red  blood  than  it  is  to  make  red 
blood  out  of  blue  blood.  But  the  higher  education  can- 
not afford  to  ignore  intellectual  power  of  any  kind,  I 
had  almost  said  of  any  quality.  It  needs  the  powers 
which  come  to  it  through  generations  of  culture,  and  it 
needs  the  powers  which  come  to  it  fresh  from  nature. 
All  of  which  is  but  saying  that  education,  if  true  to  its 
own  interests,  must  keep  alive  the  idea,  and  keep  open 
and  free  the  fact  of  democracy ;  and  in  so  doing  it  meets 
and  satisfies  the  first  demand  of  patriotism. 

I  should  put  as  the  second  demand  of  patriotism  upon 
education — a  demand  which  I  am  by  no  means  sure  that 
we  are  meeting  with  the  same  success  as  the  one  which 
we  have  considered — that  our  colleges  and  universities 
train  men  on  the  side  of  mental  conscience.  There  are 
a  great  many  men  of  good  intentions  whose  consciences 


198  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

never  seem  to  get  into  their  brains.  They  know  how 
to  feel  rightly  better  than  they  know  how  to  think 
rightly.  Or,  what  is  more  often  the  case,  they  ignore 
the  moral  element  in  their  thinking,  that  is,  in  their  opin- 
ions, their  plans,  their  schemes  of  life.  Education  is  no 
safeguard  against  this  indifference  to  honest  thinking, 
unless  honest  thinking  is  made  an  equal  element  of  edu- 
cation with  acute  thinking. 

I  quote  from  a  letter  which  recently  fell  under  my 
notice,  written  to  a  great  benefactor  of  education. 
"Now  and  then,"  says  the  writer,  "quite  possibly  too 
often,  I  find  floating  through  my  mind  doubts  about  the 
purely  moral  value  of  so  much  education  as  is  now  being 
provided  for.  Nearly  every  time  I  mix  in  business 
affairs  I  have  the  fact  forced  upon  my  observation  that 
college  graduates  are  quite  as  dishonest  and  as  expert 
sharpers  as  their  less  fortunate  and  more  ignorant 
brothers.  I  fear  that  I  am  gradually  being  forced  to 
the  adoption  of  a  new  motto — fewer  churches,  less  learn- 
ing and  more  honesty.  How  do  you  like  it?"  That 
was  the  impatient,  half  earnest  word  of  a  well-known 
lawyer,  a  gallant  soldier  and  reformer,  and  a  lover  of 
books  beyond  most  scholars. 

I  take  the  truth  which  hes  in  the  banter.  It  is 
entirely  possible  to  disconnect  the  processes  of  thought 
from  their  moral  consequences.  It  is  really  very  hard 
to  weave  moral  fiber  into  the  warp  and  woof  of  our 
thinking.  It  is  harder  to  be  just  in  our  opinions  than 
it  is  to  be  accurate  in  our  calculations,  but  justice  toward 
men  means  precisely  what  we  mean  by  accuracy  in 
respect  to  things.  When  we  treat  human  nature  as  we 
treat  nature,  the  law  of  gravitation,  for  example,  we 
are  at  work  very  close  to  the  golden  rule.     Respect 


THE  RIGHTS   OF  PATRIOTISM       199 

for  our  fellow  men  is,  on  the  whole,  the  best  kind  of 
sympathy.  And  the  indoctrinating  of  all  students  into 
this  primary  quality  is,  I  believe,  one  of  the  chief  func- 
tions of  the  higher  education,  especially  in  the  training 
of  men  for  leadership. 

There  are  three  training  schools  among  us  for  polit- 
ical leadership,  about  as  far  apart  as  you  can  space 
such  training,  and  each  school  has  the  danger  of  its 
environment.  These  three  training  schools  are  the 
saloon,  business,  and  the  college.  It  is  quite  useless  to 
ignore  the  first,  when  a  man  of  this  training  has  it  in  his 
power  today  to  dictate  the  nomination  of  one  of  the 
national  parties  for  the  presidency.  This  dictator  is  one 
type  of  the  political  leader.  It  is  foolish  to  overlook 
the  training  which  creates  the  type.  The  saloon  is  the 
center  of  comradeship,  and  so  the  place  for  personal 
influence,  later  for  personal  authority,  then  for  organ- 
ization, finally  for  political  combination.  We  think  of 
the  sordidness  of  the  surroundings.  The  real  peril  lies 
in  the  narrowness  of  the  training  which  inculcates  sim- 
ply loyalty  to  one's  set.  The  "gang"  is  social,  the 
"ring"  is  mercenary.  The  social  becomes  the  merce- 
nary through  its  narrowness.  Honor  does  not  extend 
to  the  outside  man.  The  interests  of  a  city  or  of  the 
nation  do  not  enter  into  the  sphere  of  thought,  except 
in  the  rare  circumstance  when  a  leader  extricates  himself 
from  the  mental  condition  of  his  political  training. 

In  quite  a  different  way  we  may  come  to  suffer  in 
our  thinking  for  the  best  ends  of  the  state  from  the 
mental  environment  of  business.  We  may  come  to  see 
things  more  clearly  and  in  larger  proportion  than  we 
see  men,  and  so  to  act  and  legislate  for  things  rather 
than  for  men.    The  opening  of  markets  is  a  great  civihz- 


200  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

ing  agency,  in  some  instances  the  greatest,  but  if  pushed 
without  regard  to  local  condition  it  may  mean  the  clos- 
ing of  markets.  The  flooding  of  India  with  foreign 
goods  has  driven  the  native  people  back  into  agricul- 
ture. It  constitutes  a  grievance  which  makes  British 
rule  there  still  one  of  the  uncertainties  of  the  remote 
future. 

In  still  another  way  the  academic  mind  may  fail  to 
make  its  proper  contribution  to  the  state.  When  men 
say  that  a  question  is  academic  they  mean,  of  course, 
that  it  is  not  yet  worth  the  attention  of  the  street. 
There  is  not  much  danger  today  that  the  academic  mind 
of  this  country  will  not  adjust  itself  to  the  ways  of  the 
world.  The  greater  danger  lies  in  the  fact  that  the 
adjustment  is  apt  to  take  place  too  early  in  the  process 
of  training.  In  the  change,  in  such  large  degree,  of  the 
subject-matter  of  the  higher  education  to  subjects  of 
immediate  utility,  the  moral  element  seems  to  have  been 
relegated  to  a  second  place  in  modern  education.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  but  that  success  is  a  word  nearer  to  edu- 
cation than  it  used  to  be,  and  that  duty  is  a  more  remote 
word.  Success  is,  of  course,  the  cheaper  word.  It  is 
cheapening  our  generation,  which,  but  for  that,  would 
be  one  of  the  very  greatest  generations  in  the  world's 
history.  The  moral  problem  of  education  is  how  to  get 
the  thought  of  duty  well  set  in  the  whole  process  of 
mental  training.  I  think  that  we  are  gaining,  because 
we  are  coming  to  understand  that  the  morahty  of  the 
intellect  is  not  altogether  a  question  of  the  subject  on 
which  the  intellect  is  exercised,  and  we  are  also  learning 
that  in  so  far  as  the  subject  is  material  to  moral  train- 
ing, we  have  in  the  matter  of  modern  education  sub- 
jects of  the  most  vital  concern  to  human  life.     If  the 


THE  RIGHTS   OF  PATRIOTISM       201 

old  education  led  us  to  think  of  man,  the  new  leads  us 
to  think  of  men,  and  right  thinking  toward  men  ought 
to  serve  the  uses  of  the  state  quite  as  much  as  right 
thinking  about  man. 

There  is  one  other  demand  which  patriotism  has  the 
right  to  make  upon  education  in  a  more  marked  degree, 
perhaps,  than  upon  any  other  agency,  namely,  that  it 
should  give  distinction  to  the  national  character.  No 
one  is  satisfied,  in  thinking  of  his  country,  Avith  the  com- 
monplace. You  cannot  so  enlarge  the  idea,  you  cannot 
give  it  such  bulk  and  volume,  as  to  gain  the  quality  of 
distinction.  We  want  to  have  fine  things  attach  them- 
selves to  our  national  reputation.  We  want  to  feel  that 
the  capacity  for  fine  things  is  in  us  as  a  people.  There 
is  no  American  of  today  who  is  not  secretly,  if  not 
openly,  proud  of  the  fact  that  the  nation  can  produce  a 
man  capable  of  guiding  its  diplomacy  in  the  politics  of 
the  world,  or  a  man  capable  of  the  new  and  strange  work 
of  ruling  a  great  dependency  with  justice,  or  a  man 
capable  of  reorganizing  its  military  service  to  the  last 
demands  of  the  national  power.  These  are  not  exhibi- 
tions of  the  commonplace.  They  are  outside  the  com- 
monplace and  above  it.  They  are  on  the  plane  of  dis- 
tinction. 

I  am  far  from  saying  that  education  is  the  only  source 
or  measure  of  the  capacity  of  the  people  for  doing  fine 
things.  The  capacity,  when  individualized,  declares 
itself  with  the  unexpectedness  of  genius.  There  is  not 
an  industry  or  trade  or  business  or  calling,  of  smy  hon- 
est sort,  which  may  not  at  any  moment  show  a  man,  or 
put  forth  an  act  bearing  the  mark  of  distinction:  and 
j^et,  say  what  we  will,  we  all  know  that  the  lasting  dis- 
tinction of  a  people  lies  in  its  power  to  think  great 


202  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

thoughts  and  to  leave  them  as  the  endowment  of  the 
race.  It  is  intellectual  power  applied  to  high  themes,  or 
to  high  ends,  which  alone  can  satisfy  the  finer  demands 
of  patriotism.  On  my  last  visit  to  England  I  chanced 
to  go  into  the  library  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 
It  is  not  bigger,  as  some  of  you  will  recall,  than  a 
department  library  in  a  great  university,  but  as  the 
curator  took  me  from  alcove  to  alcove  and  uncovered, 
first  the  manuscript  of  Lord  Bacon's  Novum  Organum, 
and  then,  in  turn,  the  manuscript  of  Milton's  Paradise 
Lost,  the  manuscript  of  Newton's  Principia,  a  canto  of 
Byron's  Childe  Harold,  Tennyson's  In  Memoriam,  and 
Thackeray's  Henry  Esmond — all  the  product  of  one 
college  in  one  university — I  said  to  myself,  "England 
may  multiply  her  wealth,  and  increase  her  navy,  and 
expand  her  empire,  and  she  will  still  live  more  surely  in 
the  names  which  will  outlast  her  power."  Turning  to 
our  own  country,  the  surprising  thing  about  our  aca- 
demic training  is  the  variety  of  its  intellectual  product, 
sometimes  in  the  same  college,  sometimes  in  the  group. 
I  represent  a  little  group  of  old-time  colleges,  which 
illustrates,  as  many  another  group  might,  this  variety  of 
intellectual  power  of  which  I  am  speaking.  One  of  my 
neighbors  gave  us  Hawthorne  and  Longfellow,  and  a 
little  later  Thomas  Reed  and  Chief  Justice  Fuller; 
another  gave  us  Emerson,  Holmes,  and  Lowell,  and 
two  Presidents;  another  Storrs  and  Beecher;  another 
Garfield  and  Armstrong;  another  Olney  and  Hay;  and 
my  own,  according  to  a  somewhat  different  order  still, 
Thaddeus  Stevens,  Salmon  P.  Chase,  Rufus  Choate, 
and  Webster.  These  all,  even  those  who  are  living, 
were  the  product  of  the  old  training.  They  antedate  in 
their  training  the  modern  university.     Out  of  the  ris- 


THE  RIGHTS   OF   PATRIOTISM       203 

ing  universities  will  come  the  same  results  and  more,  not 
great  men  alone,  but  great  discoveries,  the  re-endow- 
ment of  the  nation  with  the  new  wealth  of  science. 

When  Phillips  Brooks  preached  his  memorable 
Fourth  of  July  sermon  in  Westminster  Abbey  he  said 
that  the  cry  of  one  nation  to  another  the  world  over  was : 
*'Show  us  your  man."  That  is  the  cry  which  ought  to 
run  as  a  challenge  from  every  part  of  the  working  life 
of  the  nation  to  every  other  part,  from  industry  to  com- 
merce, from  commerce  to  education,  from  education  to 
religion,  and  back  again.  The  man  whom  we  should 
like  to  show,  we  who  are  in  the  business  of  education,  is 
the  man  great,  not  as  he  separates  himself  from  other 
men,  but  great  as  he  is  able  to  take  up  the  most  of  other 
men  into  himself,  type  in  liimself  of  a  true  democracy; 
great  also  because  he  is  not  unwilling,  or  afraid,  or 
unable  to  put  his  conscience  into  all  his  mental  opera- 
tions ;  and  great  again  by  the  distinction  of  quality,  with 
a  capacity  for  saying  or  doing  things  with  the  unmis- 
takable fineness  of  power.  I  do  not  expect  that  we 
shall  overwhelm  the  country  in  any  department  of  its 
life  with  this  type  of  men,  but  I  do  think  that  we  shall 
meet  our  obligations  to  the  country  and  come  a  little 
nearer  to  this  end,  as  we  try  to  carry  on  the  business  of 
education  as  a  patriotic  duty,  under  the  incitement  of 
days  like  these. 


XVI 

THE  HISTORIC  COLLEGE:   ITS  PLACE  IN 
THE  EDUCATIONAL  SYSTEM 

Inaugural  Address  Dartmouth  College,  June  26,  1893 

Some  of  the  more  careful  obsei'\^ers  from  abroad,  who 
have  described  our  national  characteristics,  have  pointed 
out  one  exception  to  the  otherwise  confident  and  exuber- 
ant tone  in  which  we  are  wont  to  speak  of  our  institu- 
tions. They  have  noted  the  fact  that  we  fall  into  the 
language  of  apology,  and  even  of  depreciation,  when 
we  refer  to  our  higher  institutions  of  learning.  The 
common  school  system  of  the  country  is  much  exploited 
in  our  speech,  as  they  observe,  on  account  of  its  relation 
to  our  pohtical  idea  and  the  working  of  our  political 
machinery.  It  is  when  we  talk  of  our  colleges  and  uni- 
versities that  we  seem  to  temper  our  speech  under  the 
evident  sense  of  their  immaturity.  And  yet  it  is  at  this 
very  point  of  the  higher  learning  that  one  of  our  most 
recent  foreign  critics  bids  us  revise  our  judgments,  and 
put  a  different  estimate  upon  the  relative  value  of  our 
achievements.  "If  I  may  venture,"  Professor  Bryce 
says,  "to  state  the  impression  which  the  American  uni- 
versities"— under  which  term  he  includes  the  more 
advanced  colleges — "have  made  upon  me,  I  will  say  that 
while  of  all  the  institutions  of  the  country  they  are  those 
of  which  the  Americans  speak  most  modestly,  and 
indeed  deprecatingly,  they  are  those  which  seem  to  be 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       205 

at  this  moment  making  the  swiftest  progress,  and  to 
have  the  brightest  promise  of  the  future."* 

I  am  not  unmindful,  as  I  make  this  quotation,  of  the 
sweeping  criticism  of  Dr.  von  Hoist  in  his  address  at  the 
first  convocation  of  the  University  of  Chicago, t  to  the 
effect  that  there  is  in  the  United  States  not  a  single 
university  in  the  sense  attached  to  this  word  by  Euro- 
peans, every  institution  bearing  this  name  being  a  com- 
pound or  hybrid  of  college  and  university,  or  a  torso  of 
a  university.  But  widely  as  these  critics  seem  to  differ 
in  view,  and  especially  in  tone,  their  criticisms  are  not 
altogether  inconsistent.  For  the  immediate  point  of 
comparison  with  Mr.  Bryce  is  not  the  American  and 
European  university,  but  the  rate  of  progress  which  we 
as  a  people  are  now  making  through  our  colleges  and 
universities  compared  with  the  general  progress  of  the 
country.  The  comparison  at  this  point  is,  I  think, 
unmistakable.  The  present  advance  in  the  educational 
development  of  the  country  is  far  greater  than  in  its 
social,  or  political,  or  even  religious  development.  I 
have  elsewhere  referred  to  the  present  as  an  educational 
epoch,  as  distinctly  marked  as  any  material  or  moral 
epoch  which  may  have  preceded.  Every  sign  points 
that  way,  though  the  most  evident  signs  are  not  of  neces- 
sity the  most  significant.  Any  one  can  see  where  the 
current  of  beneficent  wealth  is  flowing ;  any  one  can  see 
the  estabhshment  and  enlargement  of  the  great  schools ; 
but  more  significant  than  these  signs,  to  those  who  are 
in  a  position  to  discern  it,  is  the  spirit  of  the  new  scholar- 
ship, which  craves  the  severest  personal  discipline, 
employs  the  most  rigorous  methods,  and  is  content  only 

*The  American  Commonwealth,  vol.  ii.,  p.  353. 

t  Published  in  Educational  Review,  February,  1893. 


206  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

with  truth  at  the  sources ;  and  more  significant  still,  the 
hunger  and  thirst  of  the  multitude,  that  growing  appe- 
tite for  knowledge  among  all  classes,  which  is  beginning 
to  compete  with  the  passion  for  money. 

Now,  among  the  direct  results  of  this  vast  educational 
movement,  there  is  one  result  which,  though  in  a  sense 
of  secondary  importance,  claims  our  special  attention, 
namely,  the  re-distribution  or  re-classification  of  the 
liigher  institutions  of  learning.  A  process  is  now  going 
on  which  is  testing  the  capacity,  and  determining  the 
scope,  and  fixing  the  relative  grade,  of  these  institutions. 
As  clearly  as  if  the  question  were  put  to  each  one,  what 
position  do  you  propose  to  take,  under  what  limitations 
do  you  propose  to  work,  what  exact  end  do  you  propose 
to  satisfy,  the  logic  of  events  is  forcing  an  answer. 
Indefiniteness  of  purpose,  irresolution,  inaction  at  this 
time  on  the  part  of  those  in  control,  will  certainly  cost 
any  existing  institution  its  rank,  and  quite  possibly  its 
existence. 

What,  then,  I  ask,  as  the  object  of  our  direct  concern, 
is  the  legitimate  place,  under  the  new  educational  condi- 
tions, of  the  historic  college,  obviously  distinct  from  the 
teclmical  school,  and  also  distinct,  though  not  as  obvi- 
ously, from  the  university?  I  ask  the  question,  of 
course,  in  supreme  thought  of  our  own  college,  and  my 
answer  will  fit  most  immediately  its  conditions.  And 
yet  I  have  in  mind,  as  I  speak,  that  large  and  honorable 
fellowship  in  which  we  stand.  Dartmouth  College 
belongs  to  a  group  of  foundations,  now  of  historic  dig- 
nity, which  have  retained  the  name,  and  which  continue 
to  exercise  the  functions,  of  the  college,  in  distinction 
from  the  school  of  technology  or  the  university.  With 
the  exception  of  William  and  Mary   College,  which 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       207 

divides  with  Harvard,  though  at  long  distance,  the 
honors  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  with  the  possi- 
ble exception  of  the  College  of  New  Jersey,  and  Brown 
University, — my  doubt  here  being  in  regard  to  the 
proper  classification,  not  as  to  the  date, — Dartmouth  is 
the  oldest  of  this  particular  group.  Its  charter  dates 
from  the  provincial  era,  bearing  the  signature  of  George 
III.  In  close  company,  however,  in  time,  were 
Rutgers,  Hampden- Sydney,  Union,  Williams — which 
celebrates  its  centennial  the  present  year — Bowdoin, 
and  Middlebury,  all  falling  within  the  last  century. 
These  are  illustrations  of  what  I  have  termed  the  historic 
college.  The  college  idea,  the  type  which  they  intro- 
duced into  our  American  educational  economy,  has 
shown  a  remarkable  persistence.  It  reproduces  itself 
with  httle  variation  in  the  newer  states,  and  competes 
not  unsuccessfully  with  other  types.  There  are  many 
weak  colleges  throughout  the  country,  as  there  are  many 
weak  educational  institutions  of  every  name.  But  it  is 
doubtless  fair  to  say  that  the  idea  is  vital  and  germinant. 
It  is  a  somewhat  significant  fact  that,  in  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  higher  education  of  women,  the  independent 
endowments  follow  chiefly  the  college  type. 

The  question,  which  I  have  proposed  as  to  the  legiti- 
mate place  of  the  historic  college  in  the  present  educa- 
tional development,  may  be  brought  into  clearer  discus- 
sion if  I  divide  it,  and  ask, 

First,  What  is  the  essential  and  permanent  character- 
istic of  the  college? 

Then,  What  is  the  capacity  of  the  college  to  meet  the 
widening  demands  of  the  new  education  ? 

And  finally,  and  with  special  reference  to  our  own 
environment,  What  relation  may  a  college  sustain  to 


208  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

associated  institutions  without  attempting  the  functions 
of  a  university? 

What  is  the  essential  and  permanent  characteristic  of 
the  college?  In  my  conception  of  it,  it  is  best  expressed 
in  one  word,  homogeneity.  To  say  that  a  college  must 
have  unity  is  to  say  no  more  than  ought  to  be  said  of 
any  great  educational  body.  A  university  has  a  unity 
as  well  defined  as  that  of  a  college,  but  it  is  made  up  of 
heterogeneous  elements  working  in  separate  ways  and 
towards  divergent  ends.  Concessions  must  be  made  to 
these  diverse  elements,  which  affect  the  whole  internal 
economy  of  a  university,  making  it  entirely  different 
from  that  of  a  college.  Discipline,  for  example,  is 
reduced  to  a  minimum  by  the  elimination  of  questions 
which,  under  other  conditions,  might  be  of  vital  impor- 
tance. 

The  homogeneous  character  of  the  college  finds  an 
extreme  but  very  expressive  illustration  in  the  colleges 
which  make  up  the  English  universities.  An  Oxford 
or  Cambridge  man  is  such  only  by  second  designation. 
He  is  first  of  Trinity,  Kings,  Enmianuel,  Oriel,  Merton, 
Balliol.  Hence  those  remarkable  groups  of  young  men 
which  have  been  formed  from  time  to  time  in  each  uni- 
versity, and  out  of  which  have  sprung  many  of  the 
greater  political  and  religious  movements  of  England. 

The  analogy  of  the  colleges  in  the  English  universi- 
ties holds  good  only  at  a  single  point.  The  system 
itself  is  absolutely  unique.  But  as  the  college  idea  was 
transplanted  into  American  soil,  and  as  each  college 
grew  up,  not  in  a  cluster,  but  separate  and  alone,  draw- 
ing its  scanty  nourishment  from  its  immediate  surround- 
ings, and  exposed  to  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  colonial 
and  early  national  life,  the  idea  which  they  represented 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       209 

in  common  was  naturally  intensified  in  the  history  of 
each.  The  New  England  college  took  its  own  strength 
and  its  own  shape  from  the  circumstances  of  its  origin 
and  development. 

As  I  am  to  speak  altogether  of  the  historic  colleges, 
which  are  still  colleges  and  expect  to  remain  such,  I  may 
make  a  passing  reference  to  those  colleges,  most  of  them 
of  even  an  earlier  date,  which  have  exchanged,  or  are 
now  exchanging,  the  college  idea  for  that  of  the  univer- 
sity. The  change  on  their  part  seems  to  me  to  be 
entirely  justifiable  because  natural,  or  in  some  way 
necessary.  It  is  being  wrought  out  by  them  under  con- 
ditions which  make  it  feasible,  or  in  response  to 
demands  which  express  an  obligation.  Most  of  them 
occupy  central  positions,  represent  various  interests, 
and  are  already  equipped  for  the  initial  work  of  a  uni- 
versity. And  yet  I  count  it  of  untold  value  that  these 
ancient  colleges,  which  with  our  heartiest  godspeed  are 
now  parting  company  with  us  on  the  way  to  their  own 
future,  were  permeated  and  possessed  in  their  growing 
life  by  the  college  ideal.  And  as  compared  with  insti- 
tutions whose  foundations  are  now  being  laid  on  another 
level,  and  which  are  never  to  be  known  as  having  been 
other  than  universities,  there  are,  I  beheve,  compensa- 
tions and  advantages  which  will  grow  more  rather  than 
less  apparent  in  favor  of  those  institutions  which  are 
reaching  the  same  level  through  a  college  history. 

The  causes  which  have  been  operative  in- preserving 
to  the  colleges,  of  which  I  am  to  speak,  their  essential 
characteristic  are  not  remote,  nor  difficult  to  find.  They 
may  be  said  to  exist  as  much  in  their  history  as  in  their 
idea,  except  as  the  idea  made  the  history.  Indeed,  it  is 
to  be  assumed  that  this  homogeneity  is  due  in  part  to 

14 


210  PUBLIC  MINDEDXESS 

moral  causes,  and  that  it  is  to  be  maintained  in  part 
through  these  causes. 

Perhaps  the  most  evident  cause  of  their  continued 
homogeneity  has  been  the  perpetuation  in  some  form  of 
the  original  impulse.  The  colleges  originated  in  a 
common  impulse.  Broadly  stated,  the  impulse  was 
religious,  the  force,  that  is,  behind  the  colleges  was  the 
spirit  of  consecration,  of  service,  and  of  sacrifice.  Most 
of  them  were  established  to  carry  on  the  Christian  min- 
istry, because  that  seemed  at  the  time  to  be  the  channel 
of  the  best  service.  Dartmouth  College  was  a  graft 
upon  a  missionary  stock.  The  pilgrimage  of  that  early 
Indian  preacher  over  the  seas,  bearing  his  letters  to 
George  Whitefield,  introduced  to  the  Earl  of  Dart- 
mouth and  other  Enghsh  philanthropists,  and  gaining 
an  audience  with  his  Majesty  the  king,  has  become  the 
romance  of  our  history.  But  in  its  time  it  was  no 
romance.  The  result  of  that  pilgrimage  was  ten  thou- 
sand pounds,  the  name  which  the  college  bears,  and  the 
interest  and  goodwill  which  secured  the  charter.  The 
charter  itself  bears  the  impress  alike  of  the  political 
sagacity  of  John  Wentworth  and  the  apostolic  zeal  of 
Eleazar  Wheelock.  It  is  at  once  broad  and  serious, 
full}^  abreast  of  the  present  in  its  spirit  of  intellectual 
freedom,  and  glowing  still  with  the  religious  feeling 
which  inspired  it. 

What  was  true  of  Dartmouth  was  equally  true, 
though  in  a  less  picturesque  wa)%  of  the  other  colleges : 
and  one  distinction  which  they  have  since  had  in  common 
has  been  the  perpetuation  in  some  definite  form  of  this 
original  impulse.  I  do  not  for  a  moment  deny  the 
utmost  seriousness  of  purpose,  or  earnestness  of 
endeavor,  to  any  class  of  educational  institutions.     I 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       211 

arrogate  nothing  unreal  or  arbitrary  in  the  name  of 
rehgion.  But  there  is  a  clear  difference  in  the  method 
and  in  the  result  of  intellectual  training,  as  you  strike 
at  the  beginning  the  rehgious  note,  or  the  note  of  utility, 
or  the  note  of  culture.  In  other  words,  the  college  dif- 
fers widely  from  the  technical  school,  and  measurably 
from  the  university,  in  the  provision  which  it  allows  and 
makes  for  the  working  of  the  rehgious  element.  I  am 
aware  that  the  presence  of  this  element  may  give  rise 
from  time  to  time  to  vexing  questions  of  administra- 
tion. In  respect  to  these  contingencies  I  have  little 
concern.  For  the  principle  of  action  is  clear  both  on  its 
negative  and  positive  side.  Religion  must  not  be  set 
to  do  the  menial  tasks  of  the  college;  it  must  not  be 
made  an  instrument  of  discipline;  it  must  not  become 
through  any  kind  of  indifference  the  repository  of  obso- 
lete opinions  or  obsolete  customs ;  it  must  not  fall  below 
the  intellectual  level  of  the  college ;  it  must  not  be  used 
to  maintain  any  artificial  relation  between  the  college 
and  its  constituency.  Religion  justifies  the  traditions 
which  give  it  place  within  the  college,  as  it  enforces  the 
spirit  of  reverence  and  humility,  as  it  furnishes  the 
rational  element  to  faith,  as  it  informs  duty  with  the 
sufficient  motive  and  lends  the  sufficient  inspiration  to 
ideals  of  service,  and  as  it  subdues  and  consecrates  per- 
sonal ambition  to  the  interests  of  the  common  humanity. 
The  college  fulfills  an  office  which  no  man,  I  take  it,  will 
question,  as  it  translates  the  original  and  constant  reli- 
gious impulse  into  terms  of  current  thought  and  action, 
making  itself  a  center  of  spiritual  hght,  of  generous 
activities,  and,  above  all,  of  a  noble,  intellectual,  and 
religious  charity. 

Another  cause  contributing  to  the  homogeneous  char- 


212  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

acter  of  the  historic  college  is  to  be  found  in  the  limits  of 
its  constituency.  The  actual  area  covered  by  the  col- 
lege is  more  restricted  than  that  of  the  university.  A 
college  is  in  its  very  nature  a  localized  institution, 
bounded  either  by  territorial  limits  or  by  the  reach  of  its 
working  idea.  The  constituency,  therefore,  of  a  given 
college  is  a  constant  quantity.  It  cannot  even  be  trans- 
ferred to  a  neighboring  institution.  If  any  college  in 
the  group  to  which  we  belong  should  go  out  of  exist- 
ence, there  would  be  a  very  considerable  and  irretriev- 
able loss.  But,  as  I  have  said,  a  college  may  be  local- 
ized by  its  territory,  or  by  its  working  idea.  This  latter 
distinction  may  give  it  an  extended,  while  it  gives  it  also 
an  assured,  constituency.  Williams  College,  for  exam- 
ple, is  without  a  territory,  but  it  has  its  idea.  My 
friend.  President  Carter,  is  in  the  habit  of  saying,  as 
the  college  sends  out  a  class,  that  he  does  not  know 
where  the  next  class  will  come  from,  or  whether  it  will 
come  at  all.  The  college  of  Hopkins  and  Garfield  and 
Armstrong  can  never  want  for  a  constituency.  There 
is  an  invisible  realm  over  which  a  college  holds  sway  by 
the  power  of  its  traditions  and  history,  the  names  of  its 
nobler  alumni,  the  ideals  which  it  puts  forth,  the  work 
which  it  is  seen  to  accomplish.  No  man  can  define  these 
outer  possessions,  but  they  are  a  part  of  the  growing 
inheritance.  Students  are  drawn,  not  simply  by  solici- 
tation, but  more  surely  by  affinity.  Like  begets  like. 
A  constituency  once  established,  wherever  it  may  be, 
reproduces  itself  in  steadfast  loyalty,  and  reacts  upon 
the  college  to  preserve  its  essential  character. 

And  it  is  because  of  this  power  of  a  college  to  protect 
its  life,  and  to  extend  its  influence  by  the  force  of  its 
working  idea,  that  I  do  not  share  the  fears  entertained 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       213 

by  some  as  to  the  future  of  our  New  England  colleges 
under  the  changes  in  the  home  population.  The  col- 
leges themselves  have  very  much  to  say,  if  they  will,  as 
to  what  the  real  nature  of  the  change  is  to  be.  They  are 
not  hopelessly  dependent  upon  the  old  stock,  if  they 
have  the  insight  to  interpret  and  the  patience  to  develop 
the  new.  History  teaches  the  lesson,  which  no  educated 
man  should  allow  himself  to  ignore,  that  in  the  order  of 
Providence  it  is  the  privilege  of  great  institutions,  like 
the  church  and  the  school,  to  replenish  and  invigorate 
their  life  by  the  constant  introduction  of  new  and  unde- 
veloped material.  Not  the  chosen  races  alone,  but  the 
gentile,  the  alien,  the  barbarian,  have  their  place  in  the 
higher  social  economy;  not  immediately  as  such,  but  as 
they  become  mentally  naturalized.  So  men  come  and 
go,  and  populations  change,  but  institutions  abide,  and 
preserve  their  character,  if  they  use  their  privilege. 

But  without  doubt  the  chief  cause  of  the  homogeneous 
character  of  the  colleges  lies  in  the  simplicity  of  their 
function,  namely,  to  teach.  I  am  about  to  borrow  the 
distinction  which  John  Henry  Newman*  has  made  at 
this  point,  though  with  a  large  qualification.  He  draws, 
as  you  recall,  the  careful  distinction  between  the  dif- 
fusion or  extension  of  knowledge,  and  its  advancement. 
The  advancement  of  knowledge  he  assigns  to  institu- 
tions like  the  Royal  Academies  of  Italy  and  France,  or 
the  British  Association;  the  diffusion  or  extension  of 
knowledge,  to  the  universities.  In  the  comparative 
absence  of  such  societies  as  exist  abroad  for  the  advance- 
ment of  learning,  we  have  assigned  that  task  largely 
to  the  universities,  and  the  teaching  function  more; 
distinctively  to  the  colleges.     Or,  to  be  more  exact,  we 

*  Preface  to  The  Idea  of  a  University  Defined  and  Illustrated. 


214  PUBLIC  MINDEDXESS 

relegate  to  the  secondary  school  the  early  disciplinary 
work,  the  formation  of  habits  of  study, — the  actual  mak- 
ing of  the  mind ;  we  carry  over  something  of  this  disci- 
plinary work  to  the  college,  and  assign  to  it  the  further 
task  of  expanding,  liberaHzing,  and  informing, — the 
teaching  function :  we  carry  over  much  of  this  function 
to  the  university,  and  commit  to  it  the  special  business  of 
research,  investigation,  discovery, — the  absolute  ad- 
vancement of  learning.  Now,  while  some  such  divi- 
sion of  intellectual  labor  actually  exists,  and  applies  as 
indicated  to  the  college,  it  must  be  accepted  with  this 
broad  qualification.  No  man  is  fully  prepared  to  teach, 
in  the  sense  of  communicating  knowledge,  who  is  not 
himself  at  work  at  the  sources.  Professors  are  not  mere 
intermediaries.  Contrary  to  the  assertion  of  Cardinal 
Newman,  elsewhere  expressed,  that  to  discover  and  to 
teach  are  separate  functions  seldom  united  in  the  same 
person,  I  believe  that  discovery  stimulates  teaching,  and 
that  teaching  necessitates  discovery.  The  teaching 
ideal  is  undergoing  a  very  radical  change.  The  ideal  of 
yesterday  was  the  man  of  many  and  easy  accomplish- 
ments. The  ideal  of  today  is  the  man  of  single-minded, 
thorough,  and  if  possible,  original  knowledge.  Doubt- 
less we  may  go  to  our  own  extreme,  but  we  cannot 
return  to  the  former  pattern. 

There  has  been  preserved  on  our  files  the  original 
"Agreement"  between  the  first  president  Wheelock, 
acting  for  the  trustees,  and  Mr.  John  Smith,  one  of  the 
early  tutors,  who  was  promoted  to  the  professorship  of 
languages  in  the  college.  The  agreement  begins  as  fol- 
lows :  "Mr.  Smith  agrees  to  settle  as  Professor  of  Eng- 
lish, Latin,  Greek,  Hebrew,  Chaldee,  etc.,  in  Dartmouth 
College,  to  teach  which,  and  as  many  of  these  and  other 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       215 

such  languages  as  he  shall  understand,  or  as  the 
Trustees  shall  judge  necessary  and  practicable  for  one 
man,  and  also  to  read  lectures  on  these  as  often  as  the 
President  and  tutors  with  himself. shall  judge  profitable 
for  the  Seminary."  This  is  not  precisely  the  model  of 
the  later  agreements.  Within  the  limited  time  which  I 
have  been  able  to  devote  to  the  interests  of  the  college 
since  my  election  to  the  presidency,  it  has  been  my  spe- 
cial aim  to  promote  the  twofold  object  of  extending 
the  departments  and  dividing  the  labor ;  and  the  policy 
thus  indicated  will  be  pushed  to  the  utmost  limit  which 
the  funds  of  the  college  will  permit.  As  I  conceive  the 
situation,  the  greatest  incentive  to  good  teaching  is  time 
to  study.  Apart  from  the  immaturity  of  far  too  large 
a  proportion  in  the  teaching  force  in  some  of  our  col- 
leges, nothing  is  so  much  to  be  deplored  as  the  wasteful 
overworking  of  the  maturer  minds  in  a  faculty.  And 
this  I  say,  not  now  in  the  interest  of  university  work,  but 
in  the  interest  of  college  work.  Teaching  is  that  divine 
art  which  takes  its  authority  and  its  inspiration  from  the 
certainty  and  the  abundance  of  the  thing  known.  The 
glorious  gift  of  communication,  even  when  most  per- 
sonal, is  always  proportionate  to  the  conscious  reserves 
of  knowledge.  The  personality  of  a  teacher,  what  is  it  ? 
Not  the  man  himself,  but  the  man  living  at  the  heart  and 
in  the  secret  of  nature,  of  history,  of  literature,  of  truth. 
And  what  is  teaching,  except  making,  or  letting,  nature 
itself  speak  to  the  asking  mind — and  no  less,  history, 
and  literature,  and  truth?  Here  is  the  relation  of  mas- 
ter and  scholar,  paraphrased  in  the  matchless  words  of 
the  older  Scriptures,  "him  that  awaketh  and  him  that 
answereth."  And  this  is  the  distinctive  function  of  the 
college,  research,  investigation,  discovery,  with  time  and 


216  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

facilities  for  their  accomplishment,  but  all  tributary  to 
the  one  supreme  end  of  teaching. 

If  I  may  now  assume  that  I  have  shown  that  the  dis- 
tinction of  the  college  lies  in  its  homogeneity,  and  that 
I  have  rightly  interpreted  the  causes  which  are  at  work 
to  preserve  that  distinction,  we  are  ready  to  take  up  the 
next  part  of  our  question  and  ask,  What  is  the  capacity 
of  the  college  to  meet  the  widening  demands  of  the  new 
education?  Is  there  anything  in  the  subject-matter,  or 
method,  or  general  discipline,  introduced  by  the  new  edu- 
cation, which  excludes  the  historic  college  from  a  share 
in  it,  or  remands  it  to  an  inferior  place?  The  answer 
to  this  question  changes  somewhat  our  point  of  view. 

Thus  far  we  have  been  concerned  more  with  the  con- 
trast between  the  college  and  the  university.  We  shall 
now  be  concerned  more  with  the  contrast  between  the 
college  and  the  school  of  technology.  Yet  for  the 
moment  we  remain  in  the  former  field.  By  long  tradi- 
tion there  are  certain  subjects  requiring  continued  and 
specialized  treatment  which  have  been  put  quite  without 
and  beyond  the  college  curriculum.  These  subjects 
have  been  chiefly  connected  with  the  great  professions. 
It  is  now  to  be  noted  that  there  is  a  tendency  to  throw 
back  a  considerable  amount  of  elementary  work  from 
the  professional  schools  into  the  colleges.  Allowance 
is  made  both  in  time  and  in  the  larger  choice  of  studies, 
in  the  schools  of  medicine  and  of  theology,  and  in  some 
cases  of  law,  for  those  who  have  taken  elementary 
courses  in  the  colleges.  A  college  student  may,  if  the 
college  so  provides,  elect  his  way,  up  to  a  certain  point, 
into  a  professional  school.  But  for  the  most  part  the 
subject-matter  of  the  professional  schools  must  be  alto- 
gether different  from  that  of  the  college. 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       217 

Exception  must  also  be  made  in  reference  to  those 
subjects  which  are  still  in  too  tentative  a  form  to  offer 
proper  material  for  instruction.  Subjects  are  today 
under  investigation  in  the  universities  which  are  as  yet 
unorganized  and  unformulated,  but  which,  when  organ- 
ized and  formulated,  will  take  their  place  in  the  college 
curriculum.  Examples  of  subjects  which  have  just 
passed  this  stage,  and  are  now  beginning  to  find  their 
way  into  the  colleges,  are  to  be  found  in  several  of  the 
branches  of  natural  and  social  science.  We  have  here 
a  pertinent  illustration  of  the  work  of  the  university  as 
related  to  that  of  the  college.  It  is  one  function  of  the 
university  to  develop  and  organize  new  subject-matter 
for  the  college  curriculum. 

But  the  chief  question  at  this  point,  as  I  have  inti- 
mated, is  in  regard  to  the  relation  of  the  college  to  the 
new  subjects,  chiefly  in  the  natural  and  physical  sci- 
ences, for  which  special  provision  is  now  being  made 
through  the  schools  of  technology.  What  ought  to  be 
the  attitude  of  the  college  toward  the  subjects  of  the 
new  learning,  and  toward  the  method  of  the  new  train- 
ing? My  answer  is  twofold,  and  equally  positive  in 
both  parts.  The  college  needs  the  new  education  in 
subject-matter  and  in  method,  and  the  new  education 
needs  the  discipline  of  the  college. 

In  saying  that  the  college  needs  the  newer  subjects, 
and  the  methods  which  they  bring  with  them,  I  am 
speaking  in  behalf  of  what  we  term  a  liberal  education. 
If  by  that  term  we  mean  the  education  which  enlarges 
and  disciplines  the  mind  irrespective  of  the  after  busi- 
ness or  profession,  then  we  cannot  ignore  or  omit  the 
training  which  attends  the  exact  study  of  nature.  The 
broader  and  finer  qualities  which  belong  to  the  habit  of 


218  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

careful  observation,  the  patient  search  for  the  immedi- 
ate and  sufficient  cause  of  phenomena,  the  imagination 
which  creates  working  hypotheses  along  which  the  mind 
theorizes  its  way  into  the  realm  of  fact, — these  certainly 
are  the  qualities  of  an  educated  mind.  We  may  not  be 
able  to  subscribe  entirely  to  the  statement,  but  we  can- 
not fail  to  see  a  certain  reasonableness  in  the  claim  of 
Virchow,  that  "mathematics,  philosophy,  and  the  nat- 
ural sciences  give  the  young  minds  so  firm  an  intellec- 
tual preparation  that  they  can  easily  make  themselves 
at  home  in  any  department  of  learning." 

Certainly  unexpected  results  have  already  followed 
from  the  scientific  training.  No  one  would  have  ven- 
tured to  prophesy  that  one  result  would  be  the  art  of 
literary  expression.  Yet  such  has  been  the  case.  With 
few  exceptions,  the  greater  scientists  among  us  are  tak- 
ing their  place  in  literature.  They  are  recovering  the 
original  qualities  of  style, — simplicity,  clearness,  vivid- 
ness. Some  of  them  have  caught  with  remarkably 
close  ear  the  accents  of  the  English  tongue.  The  liter- 
ary development  of  the  scientists  has  been  as  unexpected 
as  the  absence  of  the  philosophical  temper. 

Or,  if  by  a  liberal  education  we  mean  the  introduction 
to  the  broader  ranges  of  thought,  we  cannot  leave  out 
the  study  of  nature,  or  of  man  as  a  part  of  nature.  Not- 
withstanding some  of  the  materializing  effects  of  this 
study,  it  has  its  own  office  in  the  humanizing  and  even 
spiritualizing  of  the  human  intellect.  "I  have  never 
been  able,"  President  Eliot  has  said  in  these  reverent 
words,  "to  find  any  better  answer  to  the  question.  What 
is  the  chief  end  of  studying  nature?  than  the  answer 
which  the  Westminster  Catechism  gives  to  the  question. 
What  is  the  chief  end  of  man? — namely,  to  glorify  God 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       219 

and  to  enjoy  Him  forever."  Bred  as  I  was  in  the  old 
learning,  and  loyal  to  it  as  I  am  in  all  my  feeling,  my 
professional  observation  has  taught  me  the  value  of  that 
type  of  mind  which  is  formed  by  the  study  of  the  nat- 
ural sciences.  I  have  learned  to  welcome  the  methods  of 
thinking,  the  point  of  view,  and  a  certain  reality  in  the 
apprehension  of  truth,  although  more  restricted  in  its 
range,  which  I  have  found  to  characterize  the  students 
of  theology,  who  have  had  the  scientific  habit.  And 
if  I  were  to  repeat  my  professional  training,  while 
keeping  as  before  in  the  old  courses,  I  should  not  omit  to 
gain  the  clear  and  careful  knowledge  of  some  one  of  the 
sciences  as  a  part  of  the  better  discipline  which  is  now 
possible  to  the  Christian  ministry. 

Of  course  the  very  practical  problem  arises.  Where  is 
the  room  for  the  old  and  the  new?  The  sufficient  and 
only  answer  to  this  problem  is  the  elective  system. 
Under  a  complete  and  continuous  prescribed  course  the 
college  must  shut  out  the  new,  or  give  a  smattering  of 
the  old  and  new.  The  elective  system,  if  properly  regu- 
lated and  consistently  applied,  insures  thoroughness 
within  a  reasonable  variety  of  study.  But  the  elective 
system  is  not  a  mere  expedient.  It  holds  a  principle. 
One  part  of  the  college  discipline  is  the  development  of 
the  power  of  intelligent  choice.  The  only  question  is  in 
regard  to  the  proper  time  at  which  the  choice  is  to  be 
made.  And  here,  I  think,  the  answer  is  not  to  be  found 
in  the  nature  of  the  studies,  provided  the  order  and  suc- 
cession is  rightly  guarded,  but  in  the  student  himself, 
the  average  student.  Experience  may  modify  my  pres- 
ent view,  but  I  am  not  now  prepared  to  advise  the  open- 
ing of  the  courses  at  entrance  upon  college.  The  neces- 
sary condition  of  an  intelligent  choice,  as  it  seems  to  me, 


220  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

is  a  certain  familiarity  with  college  methods  and  oppor- 
tunities, as  compared  with  those  of  the  previous  schools. 
Otherwise  the  student  may  fall  back  too  much  upon  his 
advisers,  the  habit  of  advising  developing  in  turn  into 
a  veritable  system  of  paternalism,  and  thus  defeating 
the  whole  disciplinary  end  of  an  election. 

Thus  far  the  need  on  the  part  of  the  college  of  the 
new  education.  I  am  equally  confident  that  the  new 
education  in  its  more  advanced  form  needs  the  disci- 
pline of  the  college.  Mere  specialization  can  offer  no 
equivalent  to  the  advantage  of  a  liberal  education  fol- 
lowed by  specialized  study  and  work.  Science  itself 
must  inevitably  suffer  from  such  a  course  in  the  long 
result,  in  the  reputation  of  scientists,  in  the  validity  of 
their  conclusions,  at  least  to  minds  otherwise  trained, 
and  in  the  actual  scientific  product.  And  as  respects 
those  who  enter  the  various  scientific  professions,  I  can- 
not see  how  they  can  take  rank  with  men  in  the  other 
professions,  who  first  liberalize  and  then  specialize, 
except  by  a  like  course.  This  is  not  the  opinion  simply 
of  an  advocate  of  a  college  training.  The  senior  pro- 
fessor of  our  own  Thayer  School  of  Civil  Engineering 
has  said  in  a  report:  "Those  who  desire  to  study  civil 
engineering  are  strongly  urged  to  take  a  full  collegiate 
course,  either  on  a  classical  or  scientific  basis.  In  addi- 
tion to  the  knowledge  of  the  special  preparatory  sub- 
jects above  named,  the  student  will  thus  obtain  a  broad 
and  liberal  training,  which  in  civil  engineering,  as  in 
other  professions,  constitutes  a  preparation  of  the  high- 
est value."  The  "Engineering  News"  of  May  26,  1892, 
commenting  editorially  on  these  words,  characterizes 
them  as  "golden  words,  which  we  could  wish  that  every 
engineering  school  would  adopt  and  make  permanent;" 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       221 

and  then  adds,  "The  graduate  who  knows  nothing  but 
engineering,  and  has  no  knowledge  of  letters  and  gen- 
eral culture  to  aid  him,  has  an  up-hill  road  before  him." 

The  technical  schools,  which  offer  low  terms  of  admis- 
sion, and  which  afford  no  wide  provision  for  general 
culture,  may  be  admirable  schools  of  apprenticeship, 
but  they  are  not  strictly  scientific  schools.  And  in  so  far 
as  the  tendency  in  some  of  the  higher  schools  of  tech- 
nology is  toward  greater  specialization,  the  college  must 
offer  its  own  scientific  courses  as  a  corrective.  These 
courses  are  altogether  theoretical.  The  work  of  the 
laboratory  is  not  that  of  the  workshop;  neither  does  it 
take  its  place.  The  claim  of  the  college  is  that  the 
theoretical  knowledge  of  the  sciences,  properly  related 
to  other  kinds  of  theoretical  knowledge,  should  precede 
the  specialized  application  of  the  sciences.  It  is  not 
assumed  that  this  theoretical  knowledge  prepares  one 
for  his  business  or  profession.  There  is  no  reason  why  a 
college  graduate  should  not  take  a  practical  graduate 
course  in  a  technical  school.  He  may  do  that,  or  serve 
his  apprenticeship  in  connection  with  one  of  the  great 
industries.  It  is  granted  that  one  or  the  other  is  neces- 
sary. The  college  does  not  assume  to  make  immediate 
connection  with  engineering  or  manufacturing,  any 
more  than  with  the  practice  of  law  or  medicine. 

The  comparison  of  the  college  with  the  technical 
school  brings  out  the  fact  that,  while  the  capacity  of  the 
college  seems  to  be  enlarging  so  that  it  covers  an  increas- 
ing territory,  its  function  remains  single  and  undis- 
turbed. It  is  always  and  everywhere  the  function  of 
the  college  to  give  a  liberal  education,  beyond  which  and 
out  of  which  the  process  of  specialization  may  go  on  in 
any  direction  and  to  any  extent.    The  college  must  con- 


222  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

tinually  adjust  itself  to  make  proper  connection  with 
every  kind  of  specialized  work,  not  to  do  it.  This  very 
simple  but  very  great  function  of  a  college  is  at  present 
confused, — I  think  needlessly  confused, — by  the  variety 
of  the  degrees  which  it  confers.  I  will  not  now  pause 
to  argue  the  matter,  but  I  will  express  the  conviction 
that  the  time  will  come  when  the  legitimate  work  of  the 
college  will  be  represented  by  one  degree:  by  which 
statement  I  mean,  on  the  one  hand,  that  the  college  will 
gradually  come  to  do  a  work  through  every  possible 
combination  of  courses  open  to  a  student,  which  will 
entitle  him,  as  he  takes  it,  to  be  known  as  a  liberally 
educated  man  without  any  differentiation  from  his  fel- 
lows ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  that  opinions  will  gradu- 
ally become  so  equalized  in  respect  to  the  relative  value 
of  the  different  studies  which  find  place  in  the  college 
curriculum  that  it  will  be  acknowledged  that  the  college 
has  but  one  standard,  and  represents  through  its  degree 
a  single  and  complete  unit  in  education. 

It  remains  to  consider  that  part  of  our  question  which 
I  have  said  was  largely  local,  and  yet  which  I  trust  may 
be  of  interest  to  those  of  other  colleges  who  are  present, 
namely,  What  relation  may  a  college  sustain  to  asso- 
ciated institutions  without  assuming  the  functions  of  a 
university?  In  answering  this  question  I  pass  from 
whatever  is  theoretical  to  that  which  is  historical.  The 
policy  of  Dartmouth  College  in  this  matter  is  written 
in  its  history.  The  history  of  Dartmouth  College  may 
teach  any  like  institution,  which  cares  to  learn  the  lesson, 
how  not  to  become  a  university.  If  any  college  has  been 
tempted  in  this  regard,  Dartmouth  more.  I  will  try  to 
tell  briefly  the  story  of  its  refusals,  and  also  to  show 
what  it  has  done,  and  what  it  proposes  to  do,  in  place  of 
becoming  a  university. 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       223 

Naturally  I  might  be  expected  to  dwell  upon  the 
enforced  attempt  to  change  the  college  into  a  state  uni- 
versity; but  as  this  attempt  represented  the  design  of 
the  state  to  gain  possession  of  the  college,  rather  than 
to  change  its  essential  nature,  I  pass  it  by.  It  is  the 
somewhat  remarkable  succession  of  opportunities  to 
develop  from  within  into  an  aggregation  of  professional 
and  technical  schools  to  which  I  desire  to  call  attention.* 

One  of  the  earliest  benefactions  to  the  college  was 
an  endowment  towards  a  chair  of  divinity  bearing  the 
honored  name  of  John  Phillips.  The  chair  has  been 
variously  utilized  in  connection  with  the  religious 
instruction  of  the  college;  but  when  it  is  remembered 
that  the  pious  intention  of  Samuel  Phillips,  the  nephew 
of  the  donor,  expressed  in  establishing  Phillips  Acad- 
emy at  Andover,  was  made  the  occasion  of  developing 
a  theological  seminary  in  connection  with  that  institu- 
tion, it  is  not  unwarranted  to  suppose  that  Dartmouth 
College  might  easily  have  had  a  like  development. 

In  1798  the  trustees  of  the  college  voted  that  "a  pro- 
fessor be  appointed  whose  duty  it  shall  be  to  deliver 
pubhc  lectures  upon  anatomy,  surgery,  chemistry, 
materia  medica,  and  the  theory  and  practice  of  physic, 

*The  term  "  university  "  is  used  in  what  follows  in  the  traditional  American 
sense, — an  aggregation  of  professional  schools  usually  centering  aroimd  a 
college.  The  form  in  which  the  university  idea  is  now  developing  most  rapidly 
is  best  represented  by  the  degree  of  Ph.  D.  In  the  use  of  method  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  distinguish  the  imiversity  from  the  college,  except  in  degree.  The 
principle  of  electives,  supplemented  by  full  facilities  for  individual  research 
and  investigation,  gives  approximately  the  results  gained  by  the  methods  in 
use  at  the  universities.  The  extent  to  which  this  method  may  be  carried  in 
graduate  work  in  a  college  like  Dartmouth,  will  depend  entirely  upon  the 
endowments  which  may  be  secured  to  this  end.  The  actual  value  of  gradu- 
ate work  to  a  student  depends  upon  the  time  which  can  be  spared  on  the  part 
of  the  professors  from  their  vmdergraduate  work,  or  upon  the  niunber  of  men 
who  can  be  introduced  into  a  faculty  with  this  end  in  view,  with  an  equip- 
ment in  libraries  and  labratories  to  correspond. 


224  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

and  that  said  professor  be  entitled  to  receive  payment 
for  instruction  in  those  branches,  as  hereinafter  men- 
tioned, as  compensation  for  his  services  in  that  office." 
In  accordance  with  this  vote  such  a  professor  was 
appointed,  lectures  were  given,  a  code  of  medical  stat- 
utes was  adopted,  and  degrees  were  conferred,  by  Dart- 
mouth College,  first  of  Bachelor  of  Medicine,  and  after- 
wards of  Doctor  of  Medicine.  This  action  seems  like 
the  initiative  toward  a  university,  and  it  might  fairly 
be  so  construed,  were  it  not  that  the  subsequent  history 
of  the  Medical  School  has  hardly  justified  such  a  rela- 
tion to  the  college.  Practically  the  administration  of  its 
affairs  is  in  the  hands  of  its  faculty.  The  state  has  a 
property  interest  in  the  school,  through  an  appropri- 
ation for  the  Medical  Building,  so  that  it  has  been 
known  as  the  New  Hampshire  Medical  College  as  well 
as  the  Dartmouth  Medical  School.  And  recently  its 
interests  have  become  specially  identified  with  the  Mary 
Hitchcock  Hospital,  a  distinct  corporation.  As,  how- 
ever, the  question  of  the  status  of  the  Medical  School  is 
now  before  the  legal  committee  of  the  board  of  trustees, 
I  will  not  anticipate  their  report.  I  am,  however,  pre- 
pared to  say  that,  whatever  may  prove  to  be  the  exact 
legal  relation  between  the  two  bodies,  the  college  pro- 
poses to  give  to  the  Medical  School  the  fullest  and  most 
direct  material  aid  in  its  power.  The  evidence  of  this  is 
to  be  found  in  the  proposed  enlargement  of  the  depart- 
ment of  chemistry  through  an  increase  in  its  equipment, 
and  in  the  establishment  of  the  department  of  zoology. 
With  these  increased  advantages  on  the  side  of  the 
college,  and  with  the  very  unusual  facilities  offered  by 
the  Mary  Hitchcock  Hospital,  it  is  beheved  that  the 
Medical  School  will  not  only  maintain  its  exceedingly 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       225 

honorable  history  up  to  the  present  time,  but  that  it 
will  also  demonstrate  the  practicability  of  a  medical 
school  in  the  country. 

Chief  Justice  Joel  Parker,  of  the  class  of  1811,  for  a 
long  time  Royall  Professor  of  Law  in  Harvard  Univer- 
sity, contemplated  the  founding  of  a  Law  School  in 
connection  with  the  college.  To  this  end  he  bequeathed 
to  the  college  his  law  Hbrary,  a  considerable  landed 
estate  in  Virginia,  and  property  to  the  value  of  $60,000. 
When  the  bequest  came  into  the  possession  of  the 
trustees,  it  seemed  inadvisable  to  them  to  establish  a  law 
department.  Happily  the  terms  of  the  will,  as  inter- 
preted by  them  and  by  the  executors,  allowed  the  use  of 
the  money  for  purposes  germane  to  the  intent  of  the 
donor,  within  the  college  curriculum.  It  was  therefore 
decided  to  apply  the  bequest  to  the  endowment  of  a 
Parker  Professorship  of  Law  and  Political  Science,  and 
to  kindred  uses. 

In  1851  the  faculty  received  from  the  will  of  Mr. 
Abiel  Chandler,  of  Boston,  the  sum  of  $50,000  for  "the 
establisliment  of  a  permanent  department,  or  school  of 
instruction,  in  the  college  in  the  practical  and  useful  arts 
of  life."  Two  special  provisions  accompanied  the 
bequest:  first,  the  establishment  of  a  perpetual  board 
of  visitors,  who  should  "have  full  power  to  determine, 
interpret,  and  explain"  the  intentions  of  the  bequest; 
and,  second,  a  clause  to  the  effect  that  "no  other  or 
higher  preparatory  studies  are  to  be  required,  in  order 
to  enter  said  department  or  school,  than  are  pursued  in 
the  common  schools  of  New  England."  At  the  first 
meeting  of  the  trustees  following  the  gift,  they  pro- 
ceeded to  "constitute  and  organize  a  school  of  instruc- 
tion in  connection  with  the  college  and  as  a  department 

15 


226  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

thereof,  the  said  school  to  be  denominated  The  Chandler 
School  of  Science  and  the  Arts."  At  first  the  school 
covered  only  a  two  years'  course.  Gradually  the  cur- 
riculum was  extended,  the  faculty  was  enlarged,  and 
other  endowments  were  received.  Meanwhile  students 
were  constantly  presenting  themselves  prepared  beyond 
the  requirements  for  entrance.  It  was  also  found  that 
a  very  considerable  amount  of  work  was  duplicated 
between  the  professors  of  the  college  and  those  of  the 
Chandler  School.  After  conferences  between  a  com- 
mittee of  the  trustees  and  the  two  faculties,  the  trustees 
decided  to  ask  the  visitors,  as  interpreters  of  the  will  of 
Mr.  Chandler,  the  following  questions:  first,  whether 
under  the  will  the  standard  of  the  school  can  be  so  high 
that  its  discipline  and  scholarship  shall  be  equal  to  that 
of  the  college,  and,  as  a  condition  to  this,  whether  the 
terms  of  admission  can  be  made  to  require  such  attain- 
ments in  the  modern  languages  and  scientific  studies 
that  students  entering  shall  already  have  a  good  degree 
of  mental  discipline  and  attainments;  and,  second, 
whether  the  condition  of  the  will  establishing  a  "depart- 
ment or  school  in  the  college"  is  met  by  the  maintenance 
of  a  department  and  course  of  instruction  in  the  college, 
without  such  a  separate  classification  of  students  as 
would  require  them  to  be  made  responsible  to  a  purely 
separate  faculty.  The  visitors,  in  a  careful  and  elab- 
orate opinion,  answered  these  questions  in  the  affirm- 
ative, interpreting  the  clause  in  the  will  referring  to  the 
common  schools  of  New  England  to  include  the  high 
schools  which  prepare  for  college.  Acting  upon  this 
decision,  a  plan  was  adopted  which  will  go  into  effect 
the  ensuing  year,  whereby  the  Chandler  School  is  more 
formally  incorporated  into  the  college  as  the  Chandler 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       221 

scientific  course,  carrying  with  it,  as  before,  the  degree 
of  B.  S.  Through  this  incorporation  the  endowment 
from  the  Chandler  fund,  now  amounting  to  about  $175,- 
000,  is  brought  into  more  economical  adjustment  to  the 
funds  of  the  college,  though  the  fund  will  be  kept  dis- 
tinct, four  professors  are  added  to  the  college  faculty, 
and  a  considerable  body  of  students  to  the  college  en- 
rollment. 

The  Thayer  School  of  Civil  Engineering  and  of 
Architecture  was  established  in  1871,  during  the  life- 
time of  the  founder,  by  General  Sylvanus  Thayer,  of 
the  United  States  Corps  of  Engineers,  a  graduate  of  the 
college  in  1807.  The  various  sums  given  for  the  school 
aggregate  $70,000.  The  college  holds  these  funds 
in  trust.  It  has  no  absolute  control  of  the  school.  Its 
management  is  vested  in  a  board  of  five  overseers,  which 
is  self -perpetuating,  except  that  the  president  of  the 
college  is  the  president  of  the  board.  The  school  covers 
a  course  of  two  years,  and  represents  entirely  the  higher 
grades  of  study  in  civil  engineering.  Connection  has, 
however,  been  made  with  the  scientific  course  of  the  col- 
lege, so  that  it  is  possible  for  a  student  by  careful  elec- 
tion of  his  studies  to  take  the  college  and  engineering 
courses  in  five  years,  the  senior  year  in  the  college  count- 
ing under  certain  rigid  conditions  as  the  first  year  in 
the  Thayer  School. 

In  1866  the  legislature  of  New  Hampshire  passed  an 
act  establishing  the  "New  Hampshire  College  of  Agri- 
culture and  the  Mechanic  Arts,"  on  the  basis  of  the  con- 
gressional land  grant,  and  located  the  college  at  Han- 
over, and  in  connection  with  Dartmouth  College.  This 
connection  was  in  the  form  of  a  specific  contract,  ter- 
minable on  one  year's  notice  by  either  party  at  the 


228  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

expiration  of  fourteen  years.  In  1891  the  State  was 
induced  by  the  terms  of  the  large  bequest  of  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin Thompson,  a  native  of  Durham,  to  remove  the 
Agricultural  College  to  that  place.  The  buildings 
which  it  occupied  wliile  located  at  Hanover  have  now 
become  the  property  of  Dartmouth  College,  partly  by 
purchase,  and  partly  by  the  virtual  remission  by  the 
state  of  its  interest  of  $15,000  in  Culver  Hall. 

From  this  brief  survey  of  the  actual  course  which  the 
college  has  pursued  in  its  relation  to  associated  institu- 
tions, or  to  plans  for  such  institutions,  j^ou  can  deter- 
mine at  once  its  policy.  That  policy  has  not  always 
been  definitely  expressed,  perhaps  not  always  clearly 
conceived,  but  it  has  been  historically  consistent.  The 
college  has  always  been  willing  to  accept  in  trust  such 
funds  as  have  been  confided  to  it  for  purposes  related  to 
its  own,  though  not  precisely  the  same,  and  to  see  to  it 
that  the  intent  of  the  donor  was  carried  out  in  strict 
fidehty.  It  has  been  ready  to  incorporate  into  its  own 
life  such  interests  as  have  been  attached  to  it,  whenever 
such  incorporation  has  seemed  to  be  of  mutual  advan- 
tage. And  it  has  sought  to  strengthen  and  support  any 
other  foundation,  which  could  be  built  up  to  the  better 
advantage  of  each,  in  comparative  independence.  Dart- 
mouth College  has  not  been  ambitious  to  become  a  uni- 
versity in  name  or  in  fact.  The  college  has  been,  and  is, 
and  will  be,  ambitious  to  stand,  with  its  increasing  years 
and  in  its  enlarging  strength,  as  the  type  of  the  historic 
college. 

I  have  now  said  what  I  intended  to  say  in  respect  to 
the  present  place  of  the  historic  college  in  our  educa- 
tional system  as  it  is  becoming  more  clearly  defined. 
Each  college  has  its  own  questions  of  readjustment  and 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       229 

development.  Within  the  past  year  the  phrase  has 
become  current  amongst  us, — the  new  Dartmouth.  I 
mterpret  the  phrase  to  express  our  decision  and  our 
enthusiasm  in  the  work  to  which  we  are  called  in  the 
readjustment  and  development  of  Dartmouth.  And 
yet  let  me  say  at  once,  we  cannot  make  too  great  an 
acknowledgment  of  that  which  has  been  done  before. 
The  chiefest  factor  in  the  new  will  be  the  old.  Each 
administration  of  the  college,  from  the  first  to  the  last, 
has  made  its  own  contribution,  more  often  than  other- 
wise in  self-denial  and  sacrifice.  We  build  upon  strong 
and  wide  foundations.  More  than  this,  the  very 
resources  with  which  we  at  least  begin  to  build  repre- 
sent the  earnings  of  a  past  generation,  not  of  our  own, — 
the  accumulations  which  have  been  waiting  in  trust  for 
our  use. 

Still,  whatever  may  be  the  relative  place  of  the  past 
and  the  j)resent  in  the  existing  situation,  there  are 
aspects  of  it  which  are  new,  new  not  only  in  opportunity 
but  also  in  advantage  and  responsibility.  For  the  first 
time  in  its  history  the  college  is  practically  under  the 
government  of  its  alumni.  The  government  of  the  col- 
lege is  vested  in  a  single  board  of  twelve  members,  and, 
excluding  the  president  of  the  college  and  the  governor 
of  the  state,  one  half  of  the  remaining  number  are 
directly  nominated  and  virtually  elected  by  the  alumni, 
— a  larger  proportion  than  in  any  college  in  New  Eng- 
land and  probably  in  the  country.  The  advantage  of 
this  responsible  rejDresentation  will  depend  upon  the 
character,  the  educational  and  business  quahfications, 
and  the  personal  time  available  for  the  college,  on  the 
part  of  the  alumni  trustees,  and  also  and  equally  upon 
the  spirit  of  unity,  of  co-operation,  and  of  active  loyalty 


230  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

which  it  assumes  in  the  alumni  at  large.  I  draw  no 
unwarranted  inferences  from  this  action  in  respect 
either  to  men  or  money.  I  make  no  unreasonable 
demands  upon  the  alumni.  Not  every  alumnus  who  has 
a  son  to  be  educated  can  send  him  here.  Not  every 
alumnus  who  has  money  to  give  can  put  it  here.  I 
recognize  other  obligations.  And  yet  in  these  and  innu- 
merable ways  an  interested  alumni  will  make  their 
interest  tributary  to  the  college.  In  the  breadth  of  the 
opportunity  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  go  amiss.  And 
something  can  be  done  in  collective  ways.  The  many 
can  unite  for  common  ends.  The  younger  alumni  have 
begun  with  athletics.  They  have  already  fitted  up  one 
of  the  best  athletic  fields  in  the  country  at  a  cost  of 
$15,000,  and  are  now  preparing  to  renovate  and  equip 
the  gymnasium  at  a  like  cost.  The  beginning  thus  made 
has  been  appropriate  and  helpful.  Athletics  have  a 
rightful  place  in  the  modern  college.  They  represent  a 
discipline,  a  culture,  an  enthusiasm,  which  are  a  part  of 
the  college  life.  Let  a  wise  and  generous  provision  be 
made  for  this  interest,  not  as  a  concession,  not  as  a 
means  to  some  ulterior  end,  but  in  recognition  of  one  of 
the  varied  elements  which  go  to  make  up  the  training 
and  the  culture  of  the  college-bred  man. 

It  is  also  new  in  the  history  of  the  college  that  the 
opportunity  has  come  for  a  symmetrical  enlargement. 
The  progress  of  the  college  has  been  continuous  and 
steady.  Each  period  has  added  its  own  proportions  to 
the  inheritance.  But  the  additions  have  been  made  one 
by  one,  and  at  comparatively  long  intervals.  The 
opportunity  is  now  at  hand  to  enlarge  with  more  sym- 
metry because  with  more  relative  completeness.  This 
is  chiefly  owing  to  the  Wentworth  bequest,  held  in  trust 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       231 

until  it  should  reach  $500,000,  but  which  now  becomes 
available,  under  the  recent  appraisal,  in  two  years. 
Meanwhile  the  State  has  very  generously  anticipated 
in  part  the  first  income  which  we  may  expect  to  derive 
from  the  estate,  by  an  appropriation  of  $7,500  for  each 
of  the  next  two  years.  The  annual  income  from  the 
Wentworth  fund  will  be  at  first  about  $10,000,  which 
may  gradually  increase  to  a  final  annual  income  of  from 
$15,000  to  $20,000.  By  this  addition  to  our  income  we 
are  enabled  to  establish  certain  chairs  of  instruction 
which  will  avail  to  enlarge  and  complete,  for  the  present, 
some  of  the  departments  of  the  college ;  though  this  ad- 
dition cannot  at  the  best  accomplish  all  that  the  college 
now  needs  in  the  way  of  instruction,  and  of  course  its 
wants  will  steadily  increase.  It  is  also  to  be  understood 
that  a  part  of  the  income  from  this  fund  is  to  go  to  the 
increase  of  the  salaries  of  the  professors. 

The  Butterfield  bequest  opens  the  way  to  a  proper 
grouping  of  the  departments.  It  provides  a  home  and 
suitable  support  for  the  department  it  creates.  It  is  my 
desire  to  see  each  of  the  general  departments  in  a  sepa- 
rate building ;  or,  when  this  is  not  altogether  necessary, 
that  allied  departments  shall  be  brought  together  in  the 
same  building,  and  provided  with  proper  facilities  for 
their  work.  Suitable  reference  libraries,  in  connection 
with  recitation  and  lecture  rooms,  are  as  necessary  to 
successful  teaching  in  the  literary  departments,  as  are 
laboratories  in  the  scientific  department. 

The  material  improvement  of  the  college  presents 
both  an  opportunity  and  a  problem.  The  beginning 
of  the  problem  has  been  most  happily  solved  by  the  har- 
monious co-operation  of  the  precinct  with  the  college  in 
introducing  a  sufficient  supply  of  water  into  the  town 


232  PUBLIC  MINDEDXESS 

at  an  estimated  cost  of  $60,000.  The  town  is  already 
supplied  in  part  with  pure  drinking  water,  and  with  a 
sewerage  system. 

But  the  question  of  the  location  of  new  buildings  in 
other  than  an  isolated  and  haphazard  arrangement 
offers  great  perplexities.  The  village  of  Hanover  is  so 
compact  that  there  is  no  vacant  room  for  a  proper 
grouping  of  buildings  for  convenience  or  architectural 
effect.  The  building  committee  of  the  trustees  is  at 
work  upon  this  problem  under  the  best  professional 
advice,  and  is  agreed  that  no  building  shall  be  erected 
until  a  plan  has  been  prepared  and  adopted  which  will 
secure  a  convenient  and  harmonious  arrangement  of 
such  buildings  as  the  college  is  likely  to  need  and  obtain 
within  a  somewhat  extended  future. 

That,  however,  which  contributes  most  largely  to  the 
present  advantage  of  the  college  is  the  very  thing  which 
it  shares  with  all  the  colleges,  namely,  the  general 
advance  in  educational  methods  and  appliances.  I 
return  for  the  moment  to  the  idea  with  which  I  began, 
that  this  is  an  educational  epoch.  The  educational 
spirit  is  abroad,  informing  and  stimulating  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  country;  the  facilities  for  good  teaching 
are  becoming  more  abundant  and  more  available ;  and, 
what  is  of  far  greater  value,  the  material  for  good  teach- 
ers is  rapidly  increasing  through  the  attendance  of 
students  for  graduate  work  upon  our  own  or  foreign 
universities.  So  wide  and  abundant  is  the  provision 
for  higher  education  that  no  one  college  can  gain  any- 
thing at  the  expense  of  any  other.  The  colleges  are 
moving  abreast  and  in  inspiring  fellowship. 

Gentlemen  of  the  college,  of  the  past  and  of  the 
present;    as  we  in  our  own  persons  increase  in  years. 


PLACE  OF  HISTORIC  COLLEGE       233 

though  it  may  be  for  long  time  with  augmenting 
strength,  we  know  the  inevitable  limit.  The  life  of  an 
individual  cannot  attain  to  the  dignity  of  history.  The 
approach  to  that  dignity  marks  the  lessening  of  one's 
future.  It  is  not  so  with  the  Hfe  of  a  great  institution. 
The  historic  college  moves  on  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration into  its  illimitable  future.  Each  generation 
waits  to  pour  into  its  life  the  warmth  and  richness  of  its 
own,  and  departing,  bequeaths  to  it  the  earnings  of  its 
strength.  The  college  lives  because  nourished  and  fed 
from  the  unfailing  sources  of  personal  devotion. 

I  congratulate  you,  gentlemen,  as  the  living  embodi- 
ment of  the  college,  upon  the  present  signs  of  personal 
devotion  to  Dartmouth.  It  is  evidently  as  true  now  as 
when  the  words  were  uttered, — "There  are  those  who 
love  it."  May  there  be  now  and  always  the  like  wisdom 
in  those  who  are  called  to  serve  it.  If  that  can  be 
assured, — and  may  God  grant  it, — the  place  of  Dart- 
mouth College  in  American  letters  and  learning  is  as 
secure  for  the  future  as  in  the  past. 


XVII 

THE  ADMINISTRATION  OF  THE  MODERN 

COLLEGE 

Address  before  the  Wonolancet  Club,  Concord,  N.  H.  ,  December 

7,  1905 

The  colleges  of  this  country  date  from  the  period  of 
that  small  group  which  preceded  the  Revolution — 
Harvard,  William  and  Mary,  Yale,  Princeton,  Penn- 
sylvania, Columbia,  Brown,  Rutgers,  and  Dartmouth, 
each  one  coming  into  existence  under  the  hard  condi- 
tions of  colonial  life — on  to  the  period  of  colleges  and 
universities  born  in  a  day  at  the  close  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, and  endowed  with  its  wealth,  of  which  Chicago 
and  Leland  Stanford  are  conspicuous  examples.  But 
whatever  the  date  of  their  founding,  all  existing  col- 
leges are  modern  in  a  common  sense.  The  modernizing 
process  has  brought  the  whole  college  fraternity  into 
substantial  unity  of  purpose  and  method,  and  especially 
of  administration — the  point  of  emphasis  in  this  address. 
The  process  does  not  reach  back  of  the  Civil  War,  and 
in  most  cases  it  has  shown  its  results  most  clearly  within 
the  past  decade. 

I  will  state  briefly  the  conditions  which  have  necessi- 
tated the  present  attention  to  administrative  work 
within  our  colleges. 

In  his  reminiscences  of  life  at  Harvard,  Senator 
Hoar  has  recently  said — "I  do  not  think  that  Harvard 
College  had  changed  very  much  when  I  entered  it  on 
my  sixteenth  birthday  in  the  year  of  1842,  in  manners, 


COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION  235 

character  of  students  or  teachers,  or  the  course  of 
instruction,  for  nearly  a  century.  There  were  some 
elementary  lectures  and  recitations  in  astronomy  and 
mechanics,  accompanied  by  a  few  experiments.  But 
the  students  had  no  opportunity  for  laboratory  work. 
There  was  a  delightful  course  of  instruction  from  Dr. 
Walker  in  ethics  and  metaphysics.  There  was  also  some 
instruction  in  modern  languages — German,  French, 
and  Italian — all  of  very  slight  value.  But  the  sub- 
stance of  the  instruction  consisted  in  learning  to  trans- 
late rather  easy  Latin  and  Greek,  writing  Latin,  and 
courses  in  Algebra  and  Geometry,  not  very  far 
advanced."  It  was  not,  we  must  remind  ourselves,  till 
the  first  of  October,  1859,  that  Mr.  Darwin  sent  out  his 
abstract,  as  he  termed  it,  on  the  Origin  of  Species, 
accompanying  the  volume  with  the  modest  prophecy 
that  "when  the  views  entertained  in  this  volume,  or 
analogous  views  are  generally  admitted  we  can  dimly 
foresee  that  there  will  be  a  considerable  revolution  in 
natural  history." 

From  the  philosophical  point  of  view  account  had 
to  be  made  at  once  of  the  revolutionary  character  of 
modern  thought,  but  from  the  administrative  point  of 
view  account  had  to  be  taken  of  the  marvelous  expan- 
sion which  it  effected.  Within  our  generation  the  sub- 
ject matter  of  the  college  discipline  has  trebled  in  vol- 
ume, through  the  incoming  of  the  sciences  with  the  sci- 
entific method,  and  through  the  incoming  of  the  new 
"humanities"  based  upon  history  with  its  application  to 
economics,  politics,  and  sociology,  and  upon  the  mod- 
ern languages  and  literatures.  This  trebled  volume  of 
knowledge  has  been  made  workable  through  the  prin- 
ciple of  electives,  a  matter  very  largely  of  administra- 


236  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

tion.  As  constant  study  is  called  for  today  in  the  con- 
struction of  a  curriculum  in  our  schools  and  colleges  as 
in  any  one  department  of  investigation  or  instruction. 
A  second  condition  grew  out  of  the  equally  large 
increase  in  the  numbers  entering  upon  the  higher  edu- 
cation. The  second  condition  is  related  to  the  first,  but 
not  altogether  as  a  result  from  it.  A  part  of  the  in- 
crease is  due  to  social  causes.  If  you  go  back  to  the 
catalogue  of  a  generation  ago  of  any  one  of  the  earlier 
group  of  colleges  with  which  you  may  be  familiar, 
Hai-vard,  Yale,  Brown,  Dartmouth,  Princeton,  you  will 
see  that  the  number  of  undergraduates  has  at  least 
trebled.  The  contrast  is  much  more  striking,  if  you 
turn  to  the  greater  state  universities.  I  will  give  the 
statistics  of  four  for  illustration,  shortening  the  period 
of  comparison  to  twenty  years. 

1885.        1904.. 
University  of  Michigan  524  2900 

University  of  Wisconsin  313  2810 

University  of  Minnesota  54  3700 

University  of  Cahfornia  197  3057 

In  1875  the  total  number  of  students,  men  and 
women,  in  all  the  colleges  and  universities  of  the  coun- 
try was  26,353.  The  number  in  attendance  last  year 
was  85,581.  It  should  be  said  in  passing  that  the  chief 
instrumentality  in  bringing  about  the  increase  has  been 
the  high  school,  which  has  made  the  higher  education 
accessible  to  the  masses. 

A  third  condition,  consequent  upon  those  already 
mentioned,  has  been  the  development  of  the  college 
plant.  The  physical  setting  of  the  old  time  college  was 
very  simple,  sometimes  impressive,  often  picturesque, 


COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION  237 

but  always  simple.  Frequently  a  decade  or  more  would 
pass  without  a  new  building.  The  nature  of  the  work 
did  not  call  for  physical  enlargement.  Growth  was 
altogether  intensive.  Whatever  may  be  the  sentiment 
of  any  one  toward  the  older  college,  none  of  us  can  fail 
to  see  that  if  it  was  to  take  an  influential  place  in  the 
modern  world  its  growth  must  be  extensive.  Other- 
wise the  college  would  remain,  as  some  one  has  said, 
"a  persistent  anachronism."  The  modern  world  is 
organized  in  a  large  way.  It  demands  what  President 
Lord  used  to  call  "scope."  It  does  its  business  by  first 
securing  the  requisite  facilities.  Results  must  be  gained 
by  the  best  methods,  else  there  will  be  loss.  Change  of 
method  is  in  large  part  the  explanation  of  the  modern 
world.  We  live  differently,  we  work  differently,  we 
think  differently.  As  Mr.  Balfour  has  recently 
reminded  us,  we  are  obliged  to  do  our  thinking  "in  a 
new  mental  framework." 

The  modern  college  plant  is  an  outcome  of  the  change 
of  method  in  education,  and  of  certain  changes  in  social 
life.  The  laboratory  is  not  another  college  building,  but 
a  new  and  typical  building.  A  college  dormitory  is  no 
longer  so  many  rooms.  A  house  without  steam,  or  elec- 
tricity, or  a  bathroom,  is  a  house,  but  you  do  not  build 
houses  that  way  to  put  upon  the  market.  A  college 
plant  may  consist  of  more  than  educational  facilities. 
It  may  be  necessary  to  create  certain  public  utilities 
which  shall  insure  proper  sanitation  or  general  conven- 
iences. The  college  of  the  country  not  infrequently 
owns  in  part  or  wholly  its  water  supply,  its  heating  and 
electric  plant,  its  system  of  sewerage ;  and  very  likely  it 
may  be  obliged  to  own  and  maintain  an  inn  for  the 
special  benefit  of  the  alumni  and  guests  of  the  college. 


238  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

I  shall  refer  later  to  the  financial  bearings  of  the  college 
plant.  For  the  moment,  I  speak  of  it  as  a  very  great 
factor  in  college  administration. 

A  fourth  condition  affecting  the  administration  of 
the  modern  college  was  the  incorporation  of  the  alumni, 
through  their  authorized  representatives,  into  the  gov- 
erning board.  Alumni  representation  is  now  in  some 
form  characteristic  of  every  college  which  is  self  gov- 
erned, and  it  is  beginning  to  find  a  place  in  institutions 
governed  by  the  state.  Representation  on  the  govern- 
ing board  changes  the  relation  of  the  alumni  from  that 
of  sentiment  to  that  of  responsibility.  It  virtually  uni- 
fies the  whole  body  academic.  In  the  old  walled  cities 
there  are  places  known  as  so  and  so  "within,"  or  "with- 
out." Every  college  today  has  its  "within"  and  its 
"without,"  but  they  are  one.  And  in  their  oneness  very 
much  of  the  new  power  of  a  college  lies. 

These  are  some  of  the  conditions  which  have  given  a 
prominence  to  administration  in  academic  Hfe  far 
beyond  any  former  recognition  of  its  necessity  or  value. 
I  am  asked  to  show  what  the  administration  of  the  mod- 
ern college  means,  in  what  it  consists,  toward  what  ends 
it  is  set.  In  answering  this  cumulative  question  I  shall 
have  very  little  to  say  about  college  administrators,  not 
out  of  modesty,  but  because  they  cannot  be  described  as 
a  class.  No  one  knows  where  the  next  president  of  any 
college  is  to  come  from.  He  may  or  may  not  be  a  mem- 
ber of  the  board  of  trustees  or  of  the  faculty.  He  may 
or  may  not  be  a  graduate  of  the  college.  He  may  be  a 
minister  or  a  layman,  and  if  a  layman  a  man  from  some 
of  the  professions,  or  a  man  of  affairs.  The  assumption 
is  that  he  will  be  familiar  with  some  phase  of  the  higher 
education,  perhaps  a  speciahst  in  some  department,  but 


COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION  239 

this  presumption  does  not  have  the  force  of  a  tradition. 
There  is  nothing  to  say  about  college  presidents  in  the 
abstract.  No  two  men  are  set  to  the  same  task.  One 
of  the  most  efficient  of  the  younger  college  presidents  in 
the  West  went  to  Mark  Hopkins  for  advice  on  his 
election  to  office.  "Not  a  word  of  advice  will  I  give 
you,"  said  the  wise  old  counsellor;  "you  will  do  better 
to  find  out  things  for  yourself." 

But  the  administration  of  a  college  is  something  very 
definite  and  tangible,  very  real  in  its  objects,  and  rea- 
sonably well  defined  in  its  methods.  In  answering  then 
the  first  question  which  naturally  arises  in  your  minds — 
what  is  the  chief  concern  in  college  administration,  I 
say,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  the  student.  Col- 
leges and  universities  are  human  institutions.  Colleges 
are  for  men,  not  men  for  colleges.  It  is  only  by  keeping 
this  fact  constantly  and  sensitively  in  mind  that  we  can 
keep  our  institutions  of  learning  from  institutionalism. 
This  concern  of  college  administration  for  some  fit  out- 
come in  the  individual  student  expresses  itself  in  vari- 
ous forms.  Speaking  broadly,  very  broadly,  the  Ger- 
man university  has  in  mind  the  scholar,  the  English 
college  the  gentleman,  the  American  college  and  uni- 
versity the  citizen.  This  generalization  if  pressed  too 
far  becomes  untrue.  But  it  is  sufficiently  evident  to 
indicate  the  task  before  our  colleges  and  universities, 
namely,  to  educate  a  democracy.  It  would  be  a  far 
more  congenial  task  to  most  of  those  upon  our  facul- 
ties to  educate  the  scholar  after  the  German  fashion,  it 
would  be  a  far  easier  task  to  determine  the  social  stand- 
ards of  a  college  through  those  rigid  inquiries  which 
guard  the  entrance  to  academic  life  at  Oxford  and 
Cambridge,  but  it  would  not  be  our  task.     Our  task  is 


240  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

difficult  because  of  its  breadth.  We  are  set  to  the  task 
of  taking  the  average  product  of  a  democracy,  of  quaU- 
fying  as  much  of  it  as  possible  for  independent  scholar- 
ship, of  moulding  as  much  of  it  as  possible  into  the 
habit  of  the  gentleman,  and  of  fitting  it  all  by  all  the 
means  and  incentives  at  command  for  the  high  estate 
of  influential  citizenship.  Whatever  is  done  towards 
these,  or  any  other  ends,  must  be  done  in  consistency 
with  personal  freedom.  Personal  freedom  is  the  key- 
note of  college  life.  Paternalism  will  destroy  the  moral 
power  of  any  college.  Where  it  saves  one  it  weakens 
and  demoralizes  the  whole  body.  Personality  is  always 
a  timely  and  inspiring  force.  But  this  must  somehow 
be  incorporated  into  the  spirit  of  the  college  itself.  It 
must  never  be  a  separate  thing.  A  college  is  a  world  of 
incentives  and  tests,  with  corresponding  temptations. 
Not  all  can  live  to  best  advantage  in  this  world.  The 
process  of  elimination  is  constantly  going  on.  It  is  a 
part  of  the  business  of  administration  to  supply  incen- 
tives, mental  and  moral,  to  create  a  healthful  and  brac- 
ing atmosphere,  but  equally  to  maintain  standards. 
Nothing  is  so  costly  in  college  administration  as  any 
lowering  of  its  standards  in  the  assumed  interest  of 
those  who  cannot  or  will  not  accept  them. 

There  is  one  feature  of  college  administration  in  its 
relation  to  student  life  which  is  apt  to  be  overlooked, 
namely  the  necessity  for  taking  account  of  leisure  as 
well  as  of  work.  It  is  the  recognition  of  this  fact  which 
has  let  into,  or  brought  into  the  modern  college  organ- 
ized athletics.  Athletics  has  proved  to  be  the  best  em- 
ployment of  the  leisure  of  a  college  which  has  been  de- 
vised. It  has  displaced  a  very  considerable  amount  of 
mere  idleness  and  of  gross  dissipation.     I   lay  more 


COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION         241 

stress  upon  its  mental  than  upon  its  physical  effect. 
Physically,  organized  athletics  affects  the  few,  mentally, 
it  affects  the  whole  body  of  students.  I  am  well  aware 
of  the  charge  of  mental  preoccupation.  The  charge  is 
true,  but  on  the  whole  I  would  rather  take  my  chance, 
were  I  an  instructor,  with  the  student  who  comes  into 
the  class  room  from  talk  about  the  game,  than  with  one 
whose  leisure  would  be  pretty  sure  to  be  taken  with 
more  frivolous  or  more  demoralizing  talk.  I  heard  it 
said,  a  day  or  two  since,  that  athletics  had  "cleansed  and 
dulled  the  mind  of  a  college."  I  think  that  athletics  has 
done  far  more  "to  cleanse"  than  "to  dull."  The  cleans- 
ing of  mind  is  evident.  If  the  mind  of  a  college  is  dull 
in  its  appetite  for  knowledge,  by  comparison  with  the 
reported  zest  of  earlier  times,  I  think  that  there  are 
nearer  and  more  evident  reasons  for  this  dullness  than 
are  to  be  found  in  athletics.  In  this  general  view,  I  am 
sustained  by  the  practically  unanimous  opinion  of  the 
older  members  of  the  faculty  at  Dartmouth,  who  are 
able  to  compare  earlier  with  later  periods  of  college 
activities. 

Having  had  this  much  to  say  about  athletics  in  gen- 
eral, I  cannot  fairly  pass  over  the  immediate  question 
in  college  athletics  now  before  the  public  mind.  I  have 
always  taken  a  certain  pride  in  foot-ball  as  the  most  dis- 
tinctly academic  among  our  national  games.  I  have 
noted  the  fact  that  it  has  not  been  taken  up  as  a  sport 
by  the  rougher  elements  in  our  cities.  The  reason  for 
this  surprising  fact  seems  to  lie  in  the  game  itself.  It 
is  so  strenuous,  it  requires  so  clean  a  physical  condition, 
it  demands  so  much  mental  tension,  and  so  much  will- 
ingness to  sacrifice  individual  choice  to  the  good  of  the 
team,  that  it  would  be  almost  impossible  to  find  men 

16 


'2r2  rUBLlC  MIXDEDXESS 

able  ami  Avilling  to  play  the  game,  outside  our  colleges. 
I  should  not  ^vant  to  see  a  game  with  these  strong  and 
reallv  noble  features  ruled  out  in  favor  of  weaker  and 
less  invigorating  games.  1  believe  that  the  same  wise, 
concerted,  and  determined  action,  through  which  most 
of  the  evils  incident  to  the  game  have  been  eliminated, 
will  ensure  the  elimination  of  any  which  may  remain. 
The  o-anie  has  been  made  clean ;  it  can  be  made  safe.  It 
ouLiht  not  to  be  allowed  to  lose  academic  standing. 

Xext  to  that  concern  in  the  aihninistration  of  a  col- 
lege which  centers  in  the  student  1  should  sav  that  the 
most  direct  and  constant  interest  was  to  facilitate  the 
work  of  instruction.  It  is  the  direct  function  of  the 
administration  of  a  college  to  make  it  possible  for  every 
member  of  a  faculty  to  do  his  work  to  tlie  best  advan- 
taa:e  within  the  limitations  of  nmtual  service,  and  within 
the  restrictions  of  the  ordinary  tinancial  stringency. 

The  tirst  step  in  facilitathig  the  work  of  instruction 
is  taken  bv  relieving  the  facultv  as  a  whole  of  the  details 
of  executive  work.  The  result  is  etfected  in  two  ways, 
by  putting  the  routine  of  the  internal  life  of  the  college 
in  charge  of  one  person,  and  by  delegating  as  much  of 
remaining  details  as  possible  to  standing  committees. 
The  dean  o^  a  modern  college  controls  the  dailv  move- 
ment  of  its  life,  lie  sets  the  time  of  day.  Personally 
he  is  concerned  with  the  immediate  relation  of  the  col- 
lege to  the  students,  but  his  ottices  are  business  ottices 
where  all  the  routine  of  administration  goes  on.  Every 
day's  work  is  put  on  record.  The  standing  of  any  stu- 
dent can  be  seen  at  a  glance  bv  those  entitled  to  know. 
The  office  is  a  clearing  house  for  the  departments. 

Conmiittee  work  is  irksome  or  enjoyable  according  to 
the  taste  of  the  individual  instructor.     Faculties  as  a 


COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION  243 

whole,  and  individual  members,  vary  in  their  desire  or 
reluctance  to  relinquish  the  control  of  details,  especially 
those  details  which  are  intimately  connected  with  the 
students.  The  most  obstructive  detail  is  discipline ;  but 
as  college  discipline  is  now  almost  entirely  connected 
with  deficiencies  and  failures  in  scholarship,  it  remains, 
of  course,  a  matter  of  interest  to  instructors.  The  ten- 
dency, however,  is  to  delegate  discipline  of  all  kinds  to 
some  fit  committee.  Virtually  the  authority  of  the  fac- 
ulty is  exercised  and  declared  through  delegated  power, 
leaving  the  faculty  as  a  body  comparatively  free  for  the 
discussion  and  application  of  educational  methods.  This 
statement  should  be  qualified  by  the  fact  that  there  has 
come  in  a  very  great  increase  of  executive  work  in  con- 
nection with  the  departments.  Each  department  must 
be  organized  according  to  its  own  needs.  In  the  growth 
of  the  college  there  must  be  a  large  increase  in  "direc- 
tive power."  Careful  organization  is  the  chief  means  of 
saving  waste  and  of  facilitating  work. 

Beyond  this  the  work  of  instruction  is  dependent  for 
its  efficiency  upon  the  general  resources  of  the  college, 
upon  the  special  equipment  of  a  department,  and  upon 
assistance,  particularly  upon  the  last.  The  constant 
and  perplexing  question  of  administration  is  how  to 
keep  the  right  proportion  between  instructors  and  stu- 
dents. There  is  no  unit  of  measurement  here.  Every- 
thing depends  upon  the  nature  of  the  work  and  the 
intellectual  ability  of  the  student.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  an  average  student  upon  whom  you  can  base 
a  calculation.  Students  are  of  all  grades  intellectually. 
The  poorest  students  require  the  most  instruction,  that 
is,  there  must  be  smaller  divisions  if  these  are  grouped. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  the  greatest  educational 


244  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

economy  to  give  a  disproportionate  part  of  the  time  of 
the  best  instructor  in  a  department  to  directing  the 
study  of  five  men. 

It  is  not  possible  to  have  very  small  divisions  and 
at  the  same  time  to  give  all  students  of  every  grade 
access  to  the  strongest  men  in  a  faculty.  In  the  old 
time  colleges,  where  the  classes  rarely  exceeded  sixty 
or  seventy,  a  professor  had  a  whole  class  in  a  given  sub- 
ject, and  usually  the  whole  class  together.  Sixty 
would  be  considered  a  very  large  division  (apart  from 
a  lecture)  in  the  college  today.  The  unit  for  division 
work  is  twenty-five,  more  often  less  than  more.  But  the 
process  of  division  and  sub-division  in  instruction  neces- 
sarily brings  in  the  inmiature,  if  not  inferior,  instructor. 
There  are  not  enough  superior  instructors  in  the  coun- 
try to  go  round  among  the  colleges.  Money  cannot 
altogether  remedy  this  deficiency.  It  was  in  part 
because  of  this  deficiency  in  able  and  stimulating 
instructors  that  the  lecture  system  was  introduced  in 
connection  with  the  increase  of  students.  There  were 
other  reasons  for  its  adoption  as  transferred  from  the 
lecture  room  of  Germany,  but  the  practical  reason, 
apart  from  its  assumed  economy,  was  to  give  all  col- 
lege students  access  to  the  best  men  in  a  faculty,  or,  at 
least,  under  the  elective  svstem,  to  the  best  men  in  a 
department.  At  the  present  time  there  is  a  markd  reac- 
tion against  the  lecture  system  and  an  equally  marked 
tendency  to  emphasize  the  sub-division  of  instruction. 
The  attempt  is  being  made  to  guarantee  the  work  of 
the  class  room. 

And  where  this  is  unnecessary,  so  far  as  the  disposi- 
tion or  quality  of  the  student  is  concerned,  the  attempt 
is  being  made  to  impart  greater  inspiration  and  direc- 


COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION  245 

tion  through  personal  contact  with  exceptionally  quali- 
fied men  who  are  yet  in  the  earlier  stages  of  their  pro- 
fessional service.  Of  course  a  college  needs  the  best  of 
each  method — the  impact  of  the  great  mind,  the  quick- 
ening of  the  mass,  and  personal  contact  with  the  in- 
structor, the  close  and  careful  work  of  the  laboratory 
or  library,  the  discipline  of  exacting  attention  to  detail. 
But  every  college  is  compelled  to  struggle  toward  its 
ideal  of  instruction;  no  college  is  resting  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  it.  There  are,  I  repeat,  not  enough  superior  in- 
structors to  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  higher  education. 
If  salaries  were  doubled  there  would  probably  be  an  in- 
crease, but  not  a  sufficiency.  Hence  the  changes  which 
are  all  the  while  taking  place  in  the  emphasis  put  upon 
the  methods  of  instruction.  I  should  give  the  wrong 
impression  if  I  said  that  the  higher  education  was  in  a 
state  of  experimentation,  but  it  is  continual,  though 
varying  problem  how  to  secure  satisfactory  results  from 
insufficient  means.  This  is  at  present  the  most  acute 
problem  of  administration.  The  variety  of  method 
called  for  by  different  departments  affords  some  relief, 
and  account  must  also  be  made  of  the  variety  of  talent 
in  a  faculty.  The  constant  endeavor,  however,  of  a  col- 
lege administrator  is  how  to  keep  the  right  proportion 
between  instructors  and  students,  not  as  a  numerical 
ratio,  but  as  a  matter  of  efficiency  in  teaching,  and  of 
interest  in  study. 

In  the  distribution  of  the  time  of  an  instructor  regard 
must  be  had  also  to  his  own  intellectual  advancement.  I 
am  not  speaking  now  of  the  research  work  of  a  univer- 
sity nor  of  the  technical  work  of  a  professional  school. 
Every  college  professor  should  have  time  and  oppor- 
tunity for  research,  investigation,  original  work  of  some 
kind.    And  in  exceptional  cases  special  provision  should 


246  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

be  made  for  research  or  production.  Nothing  is  more 
stimulating  to  a  faculty  than  work  of  this  kind  carried 
to  some  high  degree  of  excellence  by  one  or  more  of  its 
members.  While  few  are  fitted  to  reach  any  high 
degree  of  excellence  in  original  work  all  are  capable  of 
feeling  the  eflPect  of  it  when  attained  by  others.  Wher- 
ever the  capacity  exists,  or  may  be  developed,  it  is  poor 
economy  which  forbids  suitable  provision  for  it,  in 
regard  either  to  the  time  of  the  instructor  or  to  equip- 
ment for  his  task.  Perhaps  the  nearest  approach  to  a 
fit  opportunity  for  personal  advancement  on  the  part 
of  all  the  permanent  instructors  in  a  faculty  lies  in  the 
Sabbatical  year  now  granted  in  all  the  better  colleges. 
A  new  and  rapidly  growing  department  of  adminis- 
tration lies  in  the  relation  of  a  college  to  its  constitu- 
ency— the  alumni,  the  parents  and  friends  of  students, 
the  state,  and  the  public  at  large  so  far  as  its  interests 
extend.  Every  college  has  also  its  inter-collegiate  rela- 
tions. It  is  a  part  of  a  vast  educational  system.  Of 
course,  it  is  the  office  of  whoever  may  be  the  head  of  a 
college  to  represent  it  on  public  occasions,  to  declare  its 
policy,  and  to  adjust  its  formal  relations  to  other  educa- 
tional bodies.  The  direct  connection  of  parents  with 
the  college  is  through  the  dean's  office.  But  between 
these  lies  a  wide  reach  of  administrative  work  now  cov- 
ered by  a  new  officer,  namely,  the  secretary  of  the  col- 
lege, whose  business  it  is  to  present  the  college  in  proper 
ways  to  its  constituency,  through  correspondence, 
through  publications,  and,  as  occasion  may  offer, 
through  personal  intercourse  with  those  who  are  con- 
cerned with  the  affairs  of  the  college.  At  Dartmouth 
the  secretary  of  the  college  is  the  general  secretary  of 
the  secretaries  of  classes  and  of  alumni  organizations. 


COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION  247 

This  department,  as  I  have  said,  is  recent,  even  in  the 
colleges  where  it  has  been  formed,  but  it  illustrates  the 
growth  of  purely  administrative  work. 

I  pass  through  this  department  of  administration  to 
that  which  is  represented  altogether  by  the  governing 
board,  namely,  the  financial  management  of  a  college. 
The  universities  of  Germany  are  under  the  financial 
control  of  the  state.  The  English  colleges  are  man- 
aged much  more  completely  from  within.  The  Ameri- 
can college  or  university  is  under  the  control  of  the  state, 
or  of  a  corporate  body  usually  self -perpetuating,  except 
as  modified  by  alumni  representation.  I  refer  in  what 
follows  to  the  financial  management  of  endowed  col- 
leges under  the  control  of  boards  of  trust.  These  boards 
vary  in  size.  The  original  idea  seems  to  have  been  that 
of  influential  representation.  The  modern  idea  is 
efficiency.  It  may  safely  be  assumed  that  the  efficiency 
of  a  board  is  in  inverse  ratio  to  its  size. 

As  you  may  at  once  infer,  the  colleges  of  the  country 
were  quite  unprepared  financially  for  the  new  burdens 
which  were  to  fall  upon  them  through  the  increase  in 
the  number  of  students,  and  through  the  increased  cost 
of  education  due  to  change  of  method  and  to  the  aug- 
mented volume  of  subject  matter.  Furthermore  it  was 
manifestly  impossible  to  increase  endowments  to  keep 
pace  with  the  new  demands,  especially  in  view  of  dechn- 
ing  rates  of  interest.  The  saving  idea  which  came  in 
was  the  development  of  the  college  plant,  through  which 
the  college  might  increase  its  earning  power.  This 
development  of  the  college  plant  as  a  means  of  finan- 
cial aid  marks  the  advance  in  the  financial  treatment  of 
the  modern  college.  Money  apparently  sunk  in  build- 
ings  and  equipment   re-appears   in  greatly  enlarged 


248  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

income  tlu'ough  tuition.  In  the  larger  colleges  the 
receipts  from  tuition  are  now  equal  to  or  greater  than 
the  income  from  invested  funds.  In  many  cases  the 
earning  power  of  an  institution  has  increased  fivefold 
within  a  generation,  or  even  within  a  decade. 

It  is  also  true  that  as  the  necessities  of  colleges  and 
universities  became  apparent,  and  much  more  as  their 
capacity  became  apparent,  they  became  the  recipients 
of  large  gifts.  The  period  just  passed  has  been  a  period 
of  endowment,  as  well  as  of  increased  earning  power. 
The  question  naturally  arises,  will  the  wealth  of  the 
nation  be  permanently  interested  in  education,  or,  more 
exactly,  in  existing  educational  institutions?  The 
answer  seems  to  me  very  doubtful.  The  interests  of 
wealth  are  changeable,  especially  the  interests  of  men 
of  sudden  and  vast  wealth.  There  are  indications  that 
the  interests  of  wealth  are  either  centering  in  great  edu- 
cational trusts,  or  passing  over  to  other  and  newer 
objects  of  benefaction,  perhaps  in  the  region  of  the  arts. 
In  any  event,  I  believe  that  the  financial  future  of  a 
college  does  not  lie  in  some  lucky  access  to  money  at 
large,  but  in  its  steady  access  to  permanently  interested 
money.  Soon  or  late  every  college  must  fall  back  for 
its  support  upon  those  who  belong  to  it  by  inheritance, 
or  association,  or  indebtedness.  Nothing  has  been  more 
suggestive  at  this  point  or  more  inspiriting  than  the 
quiet  but  prompt  response  of  the  alumni  of  Harvard  to 
a  call  for  a  teaching  fund  of  two  and  a  half  millions. 
This,  I  say,  is  suggestive  of  the  future  sources  of  finan- 
cial aid  to  our  colleges.  The  permanent  source  of  sup- 
ply is  interested  money.  It  is  this  interest  which  has 
made  the  appropriation  of  the  State  of  New  Hampshire 
to  Dartmouth  College  for  the  past  years  of  so  much 


COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION  249 

value  to  the  college.  The  heart  of  the  state  has  gone 
with  it.  It  is  this  interest  which  made  the  gift  of 
Edward  Tuck  of  such  value  to  the  college.  His  heart 
was  in  it.  It  is  through  this  avenue  of  possible  interest 
that  Dartmouth,  or  any  college,  has  the  right  to  ap- 
proach any  man  of  means  whom  it  would  like  to  identify 
with  itself.  I  believe  that  a  college  has  no  right  to  ask 
any  man  for  his  money  when  it  simply  wants  his  money, 
but  does  not  want  him.  That  sort  of  business  is  not 
fair  play.  An  invitation  to  give  ought  to  be  also  an 
invitation  to  come.  The  roll  of  the  benefactors  of  a 
college  should  be  as  honorable  as  the  roll  of  its  gradu- 
ates. 

As  the  trustees  of  a  college  turn  from  the  sources  of 
financial  supply  to  the  needs  of  the  college,  there  are 
two  constant  and  pressing  needs  which  differ  from 
others.  There  is  always  the  demand  for  something  of 
better  quality  or  of  larger  amount.  It  is  a  trite  but 
honorable  saying  that  it  is  the  business  of  a  college  to 
be  poor.  When  it  has  no  wants  which  outrun  its  income, 
it  is  a  serious  question  about  the  inner  life.  But  the 
needs  to  which  I  now  refer  come  with  a  personal  pres- 
sure. The  first  has  to  do  with  the  pay  of  competent 
instructors.  I  suppose  we  shall  never  reach  the  ideal 
state  in  the  support  of  college  professors  set  forth  in 
the  theory  on  which  a  call  is  extended  to  a  minister  in 
the  Presbyterian  church.  According  to  the  book  of  dis- 
cipline the  call  must  read  as  follows:  "And  that  you 
may  be  free  from  worldly  cares  and  avocations  we 
hereby  promise  and  oblige  to  pay  to  you  the  sum  of 
during  the  time  of  your  being  and  con- 
tinuing the  regular  pastor  of  this  church."  It  would 
take  a  good  deal  of  money  to  set  most  of  us  free  from 


250  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

"worldly  cares  and  avocations."  The  question  of  salary 
has  to  do  with  market  values  and  yet  is  distinct  from 
them.  On  the  one  hand,  the  man  who  gives  himself  to 
the  calling  of  a  college  teacher  gives  himself  to  a  call- 
ing for  which  he  has  to  make  costly  preparation,  a  call- 
ing which  makes  large  social  demands  upon  him,  and  a 
calling  which  stimulates  his  tastes,  but  which  continu- 
ally mocks  him  with  its  financial  returns.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  college  which  invests  in  him  to  the  extent  of 
a  life  investment  takes  the  risk  of  deterioration  in  per- 
sonal enthusiasm  or  in  some  other  form  of  personal 
efficiency.  The  position  has  the  advantage  for  the  aver- 
age man  of  the  lack  of  competitive  valuation.  The 
exceptional  man  of  market  value  always  fares  well 
enough  anywhere.  It  would  be  a  poor  relief  to  the  pro- 
fessor in  an  American  college  to  subject  him  to  the 
competitive  tests  of  the  German  lecturer,  or  to  open  to 
him  the  uncertain  opportunities  of  the  English  don. 
We  pay  the  price  of  dignity,  permanency,  and  equality 
in  low  salaries.  But  the  demand  is  no  less  real  and 
urgent  for  an  advance  of  salary  on  some  grades  of 
instruction  in  every  college.  On  the  whole,  more  money 
is  earned  by  the  faculty  of  a  college  than  is  received. 
This  holds  true  when  all  considerations  of  a  social  and 
spiritual  sort  are  taken  at  their  full  valuation. 

The  other  demand  of  this  human  kind  comes  from 
students  to  whom  the  cost  of  a  college  education  is  well 
nigh  prohibitive.  It  is  not  well  to  make  the  way  through 
college  too  easy.  A  college  education  is  worth  a  great 
deal  of  struggle  and  sacrifice.  But  in  our  endowed  col- 
leges we  ought  to  have  means  to  relieve,  without  loss  to 
the  college,  all  proper  appeals  for  aid  through  scholar- 
ships.    Whenever  a  deficit  occurs  in  our  colleges  it  is 


COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION  251 

due  in  good  part  to  the  draft  upon  their  funds  in  the  aid 
cf  men  in  the  honorable  struggle  for  an  education.  A 
college  is  a  business  corporation,  but  it  has  a  soul.  If 
administered  ruthlessly  or  unfeelingly,  it  violates  the 
charter  of  its  rights. 

I  have  been  asked  to  give  you  a  descriptive  view  of 
the  administration  of  the  modern  college,  to  show  the 
nature  of  the  change  from  the  old  to  the  new.  Having 
attempted  to  meet  this  wish  I  simply  refer  in  closing  to 
a  question  which  has  recently  been  mooted — whether  or 
not  a  change  in  the  method  of  administering  our  col- 
leges and  universities,  like  that  of  turning  over  their 
management  to  the  faculty,  would  be  to  their  advan- 
tage. We  can  all  see  disadvantages  in  the  present 
divided  methods  of  administration.  But  I  doubt  if  it 
will  ever  be  possible  to  change  college  administration  at 
the  root.  The  root  is  in  the  soil  in  which  it  grew.  The 
American  college,  though  the  latest  educational  vari- 
ant, is  not  necessarily  the  best.  Its  value  hes  in  its 
adaptation  to  its  work.  It  will  probably  still  do  its  best 
work  under  those  methods  of  administration  which  have 
proved  themselves  more  effective  in  practice  than  prom- 
ising in  theory. 


XVIII 

THE   RIGHTS   OF   THE   PERIOD   OF 

EDUCATION 

An  Address  Given  at  Several  Gatherings  of  Teachers  1899 

In  the  early  summer  the  statue  of  Thomas  Hughes 
was  unveiled  at  Rugby  in  the  presence  of  very  many 
old  Rugby  schoolboys,  and  men  of  Oxford,  and  also  of 
many  friends  of  the  higher  education  in  England.  The 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  presided,  and  the  chief 
address  was  made  by  Mr.  Goschen,  First  Lord  of  the 
Admiralty.  This  apparently  personal  event  was  not 
simply  a  tribute  to  the  personality  of  the  author  of 
"Tom  Brown  at  Oxford."  Its  significance  lay  in  the 
fact  that  it  was  a  recognition  and  an  acknowledgement 
of  the  change  which  had  taken  place,  within  the  genera- 
tion, in  the  sentiment  of  the  great  schools  of  England. 
The  change  was  hardly  less  than  a  revolution,  and  it  was 
effected  not  from  without,  but  from  within,  not  from 
above  even,  but  from  within.  It  was  brought  about  by 
schoolboys  and  undergraduates  themselves  under  the 
inspiration,  if  not  under  the  leadership  of  Thomas 
Hughes.  Mr.  Goschen  struck  the  keynote  of  the  occa- 
sion to  which  I  have  referred,  when  he  said  that 
"Thomas  Hughes  was  the  most  distinguished  schoolboy 
that  ever  lived."  That  was  a  fine  thing  to  say  of  a  man 
who  had  been  known  as  lawyer,  author,  member  of  Par- 
liament, and  founder  of  a  colony.  But  he  might  have 
said  still  more.     For  Thomas  Hughes  gave  high  and 


THE   RIGHTS   OF   EDUCATION       253 

permanent  distinction  to  all  that  life  of  which  he  was 
the  personal  representative.  He  created  a  new  world 
for  the  play  and  movement  of  it,  introducing  new  habits 
and  customs,  new  ambitions  and  new  ideals  of  manhood. 

What  Thomas  Arnold  was  among  masters,  that 
Thomas  Hughes  was  among  schoolboys,  or  undergrad- 
uates. Without  Thomas  Hughes  the  work  of  Thomas 
Arnold  would  have  passed  away  with  his  generation. 
It  would  have  been  a  personal  and  local  work.  Thomas 
Hughes  caught  the  ideal  of  the  great  master,  and  trans- 
lated it  into  fact,  as  schoolboy  at  Rugby,  as  undergrad- 
uate at  Oxford,  and  finally  into  the  young  life  of  Eng- 
land wherever  it  was  in  training.  That  ideal  was  so 
single  that  it  could  be  apprehended  by  any  one,  and  so 
true  and  fine  that  once  understood  it  became  contagious. 
It  was  simply  the  assertion  of  the  natural,  the  genuine, 
the  manly,  as  against  the  conventional,  the  artificial, 
the  unnatural  if  not  the  unmanly.  Dr.  Arnold,  as  I 
have  said,  was  the  prophet  of  the  new  order  in  the  edu- 
cational life  of  England,  but  the  new  order  was  actu- 
ally brought  in  through  the  agency  of  the  young  men 
whom  he  inspired.  The  change  was  really  effected 
through  the  awakening  of  self-respect,  and  the  sense  of 
social  obligation,  and  loyalty  to  the  best  instincts  of 
their  nature  on  the  part  of  those  who  were  within  the 
process  of  education.  It  was  a  change  from  feudalism 
in  education  to  democracy. 

The  effects  of  the  change  were  manifest.  It  broke 
up  the  old  conventional  relations  between  master  and 
scholar.  It  substituted  character  for  mere  authority, 
and  attainment  for  dogmatism,  on  the  part  of  the  mas- 
ter: and  honor  and  loyalty,  in  place  of  fear  or  evasion 
on  the  part  of  the  scholar.    It  established  the  principle 


254  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

of  fair  play  in  every  school  and  college :  it  put  down  the 
mean  and  cowardly:  it  taught  fellows  not  to  lie,  or 
cheat,  but  to  be  honest  and  plucky  at  any  cost :  it  made 
sports  genuine  and  manly:  it  built  up  athletics  in  place 
of  degrading  pastimes:  it  abolished  flogging,  and  fag- 
ging: it  set  up  as  the  true  type  of  the  schoolboy  (or 
undergraduate)  the  clean,  wholesome,  well  trained, 
fearless,  honorable  fellow,  who  won  fairly,  if  he  won  at 
all,  in  study  or  play. 

And  this  ideal  of  school  life  was  made  possible,  as  I 
have  been  reminding  you,  through  the  awakened  con- 
sciousness of  the  schoolboy  himself.  As  soon  as  he  saw 
that  the  world  in  which  he  was  living  was  really  his 
world,  having  its  own  rights,  and  pleasures,  and  oppor- 
tunities, and  responsibilities,  he  became  interested  in  it, 
and  interested  in  trying  to  make  it  the  right  kind  of  a 
world. 

I  am  grateful  for  the  timeliness  of  this  reminiscence 
of  Thomas  Hughes  as  giving  me  the  natural  approach 
to  a  somewhat  inaccessible  subject,  about  which  I  have 
for  some  time  wished  to  write  or  speak — namely — The 
Rights  of  the  Period  of  Education — the  acknowledg- 
ment of  which  represents  the  next  advance  in  popular 
education.  I  am  convinced  that  whatever  importance 
we  attach  to  popular  education,  we  attach  far  too  little 
importance  to  the  period  of  education,  and  to  the  moral 
results  which  take  place  within  that  period.  A  good 
many  of  our  educational  difficulties  grow  out  of  the  fact 
that  we  allow  ourselves  to  think  of  the  educational 
period  as  a  fragment,  or  at  best  as  merely  preparatory 
to  something  which  is  to  follow.  The  actual  educational 
period  is  a  fragment  with  the  majority,  but  so  is  life 
itself  a  fragment  with  the  majority.    And  yet  we  do  not 


THE   RIGHTS    OF   EDUCATION        255 

allow  ourselves  to  think  of  life,  the  life  of  any  indi- 
vidual, as  a  fragment,  but  always  as  a  whole.  Life 
would  be  robbed  of  all  its  greater  enthusiasms  if  we 
thought  of  it  in  broken  terms,  or  even  in  any  terms 
short  of  the  maximum.  Nothing  has  its  first  power  over 
us  which  we  do  not  think  of  in  its  unity  and  complete- 
ness. Education  when  arrested,  as  it  is  with  the  major- 
ity, after  a  few  years,  means  a  thousand  times  as  much 
to  them  as  it  would  mean  if  others  were  not  going  on 
with  it  to  completion.  The  part  of  the  whole  which 
they  enjoy  is  infinitely  more  than  a  little  unit  would 
be,  measured  by  their  alloted  time. 

And  in  like  measure  as  regards  our  thought  of  the 
period  of  education  as  altogether  preparatory  to  the 
after  life.  We  may  lay  far  too  much  stress  upon  this 
aspect  of  education.  We  may  lose  more  than  we  gain 
by  over-emphasizing  the  preparatory  idea.  In  the  order 
of  Providence  there  is  always  a  certain  distinctness, 
even  separateness,  in  the  rate  of  advance.  We  cannot 
safely  overlook  it.  If  we  try  to  make  a  child  anything 
other  than  a  child,  we  simply  get  a  prig.  Even  in  the 
relation  of  this  life  to  the  next,  the  divine  order  is,  one 
world  at  a  time.  We  must  have  enough  separateness 
or  distinctness  to  ensure  unity,  if  we  are  to  get  the  value 
of  any  period  of  our  lives.  The  period  of  education  is 
no  exception  to  this  rule.  I  urge  the  right  of  this  period 
to  as  distinct  and  separate  a  place  as  may  be  necessary 
to  secure  its  essential  objects  without  interference,  its 
right  to  create  a  sentiment,  a  spirit,  an  atmosphere  of 
its  own,  and  therefore  the  right  to  lay  claim  to  time 
without  the  charge  of  intrusion.  For  the  boy,  who  is 
hving  and  acting  fitly  in  the  world  of  the  school  boy,  is 
learning  in  the  best  possible  way  how  to  live  and  act 


256  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

fitly  in  the  larger  world  of  men,  the  world  of  citizenship. 
The  rights  of  the  period  of  education  ought  to  be 
proportionate  to  the  responsibilities  which  are  put  upon 
it.  If  I  were  to  reduce  the  object  of  an  education,  as 
applied  to  the  individual,  to  its  simplest  terms,  I  should 
say  that  it  aimed  at  three  things,  first,  to  enable  the 
individual  to  find  himself,  second  to  enable  him  to  make 
sure  of  himself,  and  then  to  enable  him  to  relate  him- 
self rightly  to  others.  These  are  very  simple  aims,  but 
they  are  far  reaching.  It  is  quite  evident  that  one 
remains  essentially  a  child  until  he  begins  at  least  to 
know  himself:  it  is  equally  evident  that  one  does  not 
reach  any  degree  of  maturity  until  his  powers  have 
begun  to  work  with  some  degree  of  certainty :  and  it  is 
evident  that  he  has  made  no  approach  to  manhood  till 
he  has  learned  how  to  live  with  others.  Self-knowledge 
and  self-reliance  are  the  first  plain,  everyday,  practical 
results  of  an  education, — the  self  knowledge  which 
comes  from  the  awakened  faculties,  the  self  reliance 
which  comes  from  the  trained  faculties.  We  expect,  in 
a  word,  from  the  school  room  some  intimation  of  that 
mental  character  foreshadowed  in  the  familiar  line: 
"Self  reverence,  self  knowledge,  self  control."  We 
judge  the  schools  by  the  results  they  give  us  at  these 
points.  We  have  no  patience  with  schools  which  turn 
out  dullards  and  blunderers.  Whether  the  time  of  edu- 
cation be  long  or  short,  we  demand  that  the  minds  of 
scholars  shall  be  alert ;  and  if  the  time  be  long  enough  to 
secure  such  a  result,  we  demand  that  their  minds  shall 
be  accurate  and  reliable  in  their  working,  I  grant  of 
course  that  no  guarantee  can  be  given  for  this  outcome. 
A  boy  may  go  through  school  and  college  and  remain 
uneducated;  that  is,  his  powers  may  not  have  been  led 


THE   RIGHTS   OF   EDUCATION        25T 

out.  Xow  and  then  we  find  a  mind  which  cannot  be  led 
out.  It  must  be  driven  out.  It  must  come  under  the 
sharp  stimulus  of  necessity,  such  as  usually  attacks  one 
only  in  after  life,  to  come  to  any  development.  There 
are  men  who  were  failures  in  school  who  are  successes  in 
the  world.  But  they  are  rare,  the  very  rare  exceptions. 
That  is  why  we  hear  so  much  about  them.  The  excep- 
tional interests  us  more  than  the  ordinary.  Interest, 
recognition,  acknowledgment  of  the  exceptional  is 
legitimate:  the  fallacy  comes  in,  and  it  is  always  a  tre- 
mendous fallacy,  when  we  begin  to  reason  from  the  ex- 
ceptional. 

The  business  of  education  is  to  deliver  each  incom- 
ing generation  into  the  hands  of  society  reasonably  well 
developed,  reasonably  well  trained,  reasonably  well 
informed,  and  reasonably  well  adjusted  to  the  moral 
relations  of  life.  That  is  the  responsibility  resting  upon 
our  schools  and  colleges.  Beyond  this  work  lies  the 
vast  range  of  investigation  open  to  the  few,  the  very 
few  who  have  committed  themselves  to  the  high  ends 
of  research  and  discovery. 

Now  if  such  responsibility  as  this  falls  within  the 
period  of  education  there  ought  to  be  in  the  public  mind, 
a  corresponding  distinctness  of  object  attaching  to  this 
period.  It  is  just  as  clear  and  distinct  an  object 
to  organize  the  mind  of  a  generation  as  it  is  to  employ 
that  mind  afterwards  in  any  given  trade,  or  business,  or 
profession.  I  am  not  pleading  for  a  theory  of  educa- 
tion :  I  am  pleading  for  the  period  of  education.  I  want 
to  see  a  change  brought  about  in  this  regard,  in  the 
attitude  of  the  public  mind.  An  education  is  commonly 
regarded  as  a  means  to  an  end.  I  would  have  it 
regarded  also  in  the  light  of  an  end  in  itself.    A  well 

17 


258  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

organized  mind  is  as  distinct  an  object  as  character,  and 
as  worthy  an  end  as  a  fortune.  I  would  change  the 
presumption  in  this  whole  matter,  that  whereas  the  pre- 
sumption is  now  in  favor  of  no  more  education  than  is 
called  for  by  some  specific  object  to  be  gained  in  the 
after  life,  I  would  have  the  presumption  in  favor  of  so 
much  of  an  education  as  the  individual  is  capable  of, 
with  a  view  to  the  largest  thing  which  he  can  do  when 
the  time  of  action  comes.  I  think  that  we  shall  agree 
that  the  normal  man  amongst  us  is  to  be  the  educated 
man,  in  the  sense  in  which  I  have  used  the  term,  the  man 
that  is,  who  has  learned  to  know  himself,  to  make  sure 
of  himself,  and  to  relate  himself  properly  to  others. 
Education  in  this  sense  is  the  outfit  to  which  one  is  en- 
titled, the  capital  with  which  one  ought  to  be  able  to 
begin  the  business  of  life. 

It  has  not  been  found  practicable  to  abridge  the 
period  of  education.  In  order  to  become  educated  men 
and  women  in  the  full  sense  of  the  schools,  we  must  put 
behind  us  not  less  than  one-third  of  our  lives  before  we 
enter  upon  what  is  termed  our  life  work.  This  propor- 
tion between  mental  growth  and  maturity,  or  between 
study  and  production,  does  not  essentially  change  from 
one  generation  to  another.  We  may  economize  in  time 
to  some  extent,  we  may  recover  considerable  tracts  of 
intellectual  territory  which  have  been  allowed  to  run 
waste,  but  these  savings  are  quickly  appropriated  in  the 
interest  of  new  subjects  and  a  more  careful  knowledge. 

Two  forces  guard  this  period  to  its  full  limit — nature 
and  society.  Nature  resolutely  protects  the  season  of 
mental  growth  by  demanding  time  for  play  as  well  as 
study,  by  protesting  against  haste,  and  by  enforcing 
with  exact  penalty  the  laws  of  growth.    And  society. 


THE   RIGHTS    OF   EDUCATION        259 

at  the  other  end,  refuses  all  apphcants  who  cannot  show 
the  proper  credentials.  Society  welcomes  the  child  of 
genius  with  his  own  credentials,  and  is  appreciative  of 
all  self-educated  men  who  have  results  to  show.  But 
her  claims  are  becoming  more  and  more  exacting  from 
those  who  assume  the  culture  of  the  schools,  and  who 
assert  the  advantage  of  a  liberal  education.  An  edu- 
cated man  can  no  longer  justify  himself  to  society 
unless  he  can  show  those  results  in  mental  character 
which  it  is  the  business  of  education  to  insure  and  guar- 
antee. For  education,  we  are  always  to  remember,  is 
more  than  instruction.  The  distinction  has  been  so 
well  expressed  in  a  recent  word  from  Professor  Jebb 
that  I  venture  to  quote  it,  "It  is  no  new  thing,"  he  says, 
"how  far  and  how  best  we  can  combine  education,  that 
is,  the  bringing  out  of  the  faculties,  with  instruction, 
that  is,  the  imparting  of  valuable  knowledge.  Modern 
life,  so  complex,  so  restless  and  so  competitive,  natur- 
ally tends  to  insist  first  upon  instruction;  but  as  no 
progress  of  science  can  enable  men  to  think  faster,  a 
sound  economy  of  educational  time  depends  on  the 
same  principles  as  ever." 

I  shall  refer  in  a  moment  to  the  various  practical 
limitations  of  which  account  must  be  made,  in  consid- 
ering the  subject  before  us,  but  just  now  I  am  intent 
upon  emphasizing  the  one  idea  in  its  singleness,  that 
the  period  of  education  is  as  distinct  a  period,  with  as 
distinct  an  object,  having  as  great  a  responsibility  and 
entitled  to  as  undisputed  right,  as  any  period  in  our 
lives.  Let  us  put  the  idea  into  the  concrete  and  see 
what  it  means  to  accept  it  under  practical  conditions. 
We  at  once  ask,  what  is  the  period  of  education,  when 
measured  by  time?    Suppose  we  allow  the  educational 


260  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

period  to  reach  to  the  age  of  eighteen  for  the  minimum, 
and  to  twenty  one  for  the  maximum  average.  We 
will  not  say  that  education  should  be  compulsory  even 
up  to  the  minimum  age;  that  is  not  w^iat  I  am  ask- 
ing for;  but  we  will  assume  that  public  sentiment 
should  be  strong  enough  in  favor  of  that  extension  to 
put  the  burden  of  proof  upon  those  who  would  deny  it. 
Suppose  that  in  actual  fact  the  majority  in  our  schools 
should  reach  that  limit,  and  only  the  minority  fall  out 
by  the  way.  What  then?  What  are  the  practical 
objections  of  a  definite  and  positive  sort?  Let  us  con- 
sider them. 

First;  there  is  the  objection  from  cost,  the  direct 
cost  in  money  and  the  indirect  cost  in  time.  All 
education  must  be  paid  for  directly  through  pubhc  taxa- 
tion, or  through  private  endowment ;  in  the  newer  states 
by  the  former  means  chiefly,  in  the  older  states  by  the 
latter  means  beyond  the  range  of  the  public  schools. 
It  is  impossible  to  calculate  the  precise  cost  of  the  period 
of  education  if  it  should  be  virtually  extended  to  the 
ages  of  eighteen  or  twenty  one,  but  I  think  it  safe  to  say 
that  the  cost  of  the  advance  would  be  no  greater  than 
was  the  cost  of  the  original  advance  into  the  region  of 
the  higher  education.  It  cost  far  more  to  advance  be- 
yond the  three  R's,  into  the  wide  territory  covered  by 
the  public  school  system  than  it  would  now  cost  to  make 
that  territory  available  to  all  below  the  age  even  of 
twenty  one.  The  first  cost  is  passed,  that  of  establish- 
ing the  wider  educational  foundations,  and  of  providing 
facilities  for  advanced  instruction.  The  increased  cost 
would  consist  in  multiplying  appliances  already  exist- 
ing. It  is  cheaper  to  enlarge  high  schools,  academies, 
technical  school,  and  even  colleges,  than  to  create  them 


THE   RIGHTS    OF   EDUCATION        261 

in  the  first  instance.  The  existing  plants  are  of  great 
public  value. 

The  question  of  the  indirect  cost,  in  time,  the  time  of 
the  individual,  is  more  serious.  It  costs  the  family  with- 
out fortune,  but  with  children,  more  to  give  up  the  time 
of  the  children  in  school,  than  it  costs  a  family  without 
children,  but  with  a  fortune,  to  pay  its  share  for  the 
support  of  the  schools  in  taxes.  It  requires  sacrifice, 
often  heroic  sacrifice,  to  give  up  the  earnings  of  chil- 
dren beyond  a  certain  age,  even  if  nothing  is  paid  out 
for  their  education.  It  means  a  great  deal  often  for 
parents  to  give  children  "their  time."  It  means  a  great 
deal  for  parents  to  identify  themselves  to  this  extent 
with  the  fortunes  of  their  children.  The  most  pathetic 
scene  in  the  early  educational  history  of  New  England 
is  the  interview  between  Mr.  Webster  while  a  student 
in  college,  and  his  father,  about  sending  his  brother 
Ezekiel  to  college.  The  farm  had  been  mortgaged  to 
send  Daniel.  To  send  Ezekiel  the  scanty  personal 
property  must  be  exhausted.  The  father  replied,  "I 
should  be  willing,  if  it  were  not  for  your  mother.  I 
must  consult  her."  The  mother  who  had  overhead  the 
conversation  at  once  said,  "I  am  willing,  I  can  trust  my 
boys." 

That  was  the  old  New  England  spirit.  It  was  the 
spirit  of  sacrifice.  It  was  the  spirit  which  made  New 
England.  It  put  a  relatively  large  share  of  the  family 
capital  into  the  education  of  the  children.  That  was 
the  favorite  investment  of  that  earlier  time.  We  can 
see  that  it  paid,  that  nothing  paid  like  it,  but  it  required 
faith,  and  often  heroism.  It  is  at  just  this  point  that 
there  is  beginning  to  be  the  most  appreciable  decline 
in  the  old  stock.    There  is  less  ambition  to  secure  a  full 


262  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

education  for  children  at  the  cost  of  personal  and  family 
comforts.  Meanwhile  the  new  stock  is  beginning  to 
show  something  of  the  same  quality  which  the  old  stock 
is  losing.  The  families  who  have  much  to  gain  socially 
are  willing  to  make  sacrifices  to  secure  their  ends.  This 
is  especially  true  of  foreigners  of  the  second  and  third 
generation.  Those  who  have  not  given  direct  attention 
to  this  change  would  be  surprised  to  know  how  far 
reaching  it  is.  A  clergyman  in  Boston,  who  had  inves- 
tigated the  subject  recently  told  me  that  there  were 
twenty-six  ministers  of  one  denomination  in  that  city, 
who  were,  as  he  expressed  it,  sons  of  immigrants.  He 
was  one  of  them.  That  is  a  very  remarkable  result. 
Twenty-six  men  in  one  branch  of  one  profession,  sons 
of  men  who  were  not  born  in  this  country — a  remarkable 
showing  for  the  second  generation.  But  any  one  who 
knows  what  is  going  on  in  our  schools  and  colleges, 
knows  that  there  is  a  steady  incoming  of  those  from  the 
newer  peoples  who  are  pushing  their  way  into  the  higher 
education  through  the  social  or  general  ambition  of  their 
parents,  and  this  always  means  sacrifice,  the  willingness 
as  I  have  said,  to  give  up  the  time  of  their  children, 
their  first  earning  power,  and  in  many  cases  the  willing- 
ness to  add  the  aid  of  money.  In  asking  for  an  exten- 
sion of  the  period  of  education  within  the  limits  named, 
I  am  pleading  for  a  revival  of  the  old  spirit  which  gave 
New  England  its  educational  prestige,  and  which  must 
be  revived  if  New  England  families  of  the  old  stock  are 
to  hold  their  birthright. 

A  second  objection  is  of  a  more  general  character: 
the  extension  for  large  numbers  of  the  period  of  edu- 
cation would  withdraw  too  many  from  productive  labor. 
Here  again  it  would  be  impossible  to  give  statistics,  but 


THE   RIGHTS    OF   EDUCATION        263 

without  doubt  the  number  would  be  large  enough  to 
make  some  impression  upon  the  labor  market.  Would 
the  reduction  be  an  economic  loss?  Is  the  country  in 
need  of  more  laborers  who  are  minors?  Occasionally 
a  great  industry  makes  some  extraordinary  demands, 
but  the  ordinary  demand  is  for  work,  not  for  laborers. 
The  most  exacting  requirements  are  made  by  labor 
unions  to  extend  the  time  and  conditions  of  apprentice- 
ship to  the  various  trades:  and  the  steady  contention 
is  for  reduced  hours  of  labor,  partly  with  the  view  of 
making  work  go  round.  The  usual  condition  of  the 
labor  market  is  that  it  is  overstocked,  with  the  liability 
of  being  congested.  It  is  wonderful  how  large  a  num- 
ber can  be  withdrawn  from  production  and  allow  unin- 
terrupted if  not  increasing  national  prosperity.  Ger- 
many withdraws  600,000  men  from  the  labor  market, 
yet  Germany  is  today  in  many  respects  the  most  suc- 
cessful commercial  nation  in  the  world.  The  standing 
armies  of  Europe  make  enormous  demands  upon  the 
people  for  their  support  in  peace  as  well  as  in  war,  but 
it  is  an  open  question  whether  the  men  themselves  are 
needed  for  productive  purposes,  outside  an  undevel- 
oped country  like  Russia.  It  is  a  serious  draft  upon  the 
labor  market  of  that  country  to  have  265,000  men  of 
twenty-one  years  of  age  conscripted  each  year  to  serve 
for  five  years,  making  a  total  of  nearly  1,000,000  pro- 
ducers under  arms. 

The  movements  of  old  countries  all  look  toward 
reduction  of  the  aggregate  amount  of  labor,  either  in 
numbers  employed,  or  in  time  of  service.  Colonization 
was  long  the  favorite  scheme  for  relieving  the  home 
labor  market.  Now  it  is  long  apprenticeships,  reduced 
hours  of  labor,  and  old  age  pensions.    It  is  interesting 


264  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

to  note  that  Japan,  which  is  coming  into  view  as  an 
industrial  nation,  retires  men  from  the  activities  of  life 
at  a  comparatively  early  age.  A  traveller  who  landed 
recently  at  San  Francisco,  after  having  spent  some  time 
in  Japan,  said  that  he  saw  more  bald  headed  men  on  the 
ferry  boats  running  from  San  Francisco  to  Oakland 
than  he  had  seen  engaged  in  business  during  his  resi- 
dence in  Japan.  The  question  of  production  is  no 
longer  the  question  of  numbers,  but  of  skill,  of  capac- 
ity for  rapid  work  to  match  machinery,  of  endurance 
under  exhausting  conditions,  and  of  ability  to  adjust 
oneself  to  others,  of  working  in  a  team.  There  is  no 
economic  reason  why  boys  should  be  hurried  into  the 
labor  market.  There  may  be  a  sufficient  reason,  as  I 
have  said,  why  they  should  contribute  to  the  support  of 
a  given  family,  but  no  trade  needs  them  or  business. 
No  city  calls  for  them:  the  country  at  large  does  not 
need  them.  The  best  economic  use  to  which  you  can 
put  boys  and  girls  is  to  educate  them  in  the  sense  in 
which  I  have  been  using  the  term,  that  is,  to  enable  them 
to  find  themselves,  and  to  make  sure  of  themselves,  not 
to  rush  them  into  trades  or  business. 

A  third  objection  has  to  do  with  the  character  of  edu- 
cation. It  is  said  that  education  unfits  for  common 
work,  and  that  for  the  higher  grades  of  work  or  busi- 
ness it  is  necessary  to  unlearn  much  which  the  schools 
have  taught.  This  objection  has  a  certain  force,  but  it 
is  becoming  of  less  and  less  significance,  chiefly  because 
the  schools  are  becoming  more  practical.  In  fact  the 
great  difficulty  today  in  all  grades  of  education  is  to 
withstand  the  undue  commercial  tendencies  of  the  time. 
Education  is  set  in  all  departments,  apart  from  investi- 
gation, toward  some  end  of  utihty.     The  new  wealth 


THE   RIGHTS   OF   EDUCATIOlSr       265 

of  the  nation  lies  in  the  new  sciences,  or  in  the  new 
knowledge  of  the  old  sciences.  There  is  more  available 
wealth  lying  in  the  laboratories  of  biology,  chemistry, 
and  physics  than  in  the  gold  fields  of  Alaska.  Any  one 
who  is  familiar  with  the  variety  and  character  of  the 
courses  of  instruction  in  the  better  schools  will  see  that 
there  is  everything  to  learn,  and  little  to  unlearn,  for  the 
practical  uses  of  life.  The  individual  may  make  mis- 
takes, but  the  way  is  open  from  the  time  of  first  choice 
to  the  end,  into  the  actual  employments  which  are  to 
follow. 

As  to  the  incompatibility  between  study  and  work, 
nothing  can  be  said  apart  from  one's  knowledge  of  the 
individual.  My  observation  is  that  a  boy  who  leaves 
school  or  college  full  of  conceit  and  self  sufficiency 
would  have  shown  the  same  results  under  any  circum- 
stances. Conceit  is  a  personal  quality.  I  have  never 
seen  the  discipline  sufficient  to  drive  it  out.  But  the 
greatest  foe  to  conceit  is  knowledge,  provided  it  can 
have  the  chance  to  show  its  power.  The  moral  effect  of 
an  education  is  to  teach  self  respect,  and  the  best  expres- 
sion of  self  respect  is  in  not  being  ashamed  to  work. 
Manual  work  is  being  constantly  ennobled  by  those  who 
see  capacities  in  it  which  the  untrained  eye  and  hand 
cannot  find.  Half  the  drudgery  of  the  world  has 
already  been  brought  up  to  the  plane  of  labor  by  those 
who  have  not  been  ashamed  to  stoop  to  lift  it  up.  I  have 
no  fear  from  this  objection  about  the  effect  of  the  school 
in  unfitting  for  work,  when  once  the  subject  is  fairly 
investigated.  If  it  be  really  true,  then  there  is  no  stop- 
ping place  in  mental  decline  until  we  reach  and  accept 
slavery  as  the  normal  condition  for  work. 

Are  there  any  valid  objections  against  the  endeavor 


266  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

to  extend  and  enrich  the  period  of  education?  Sup- 
pose the  number  of  those  going  on  in  the  schools  until 
eighteen,  or  even  twenty-one,  were  doubled,  would  soci- 
ety be  the  loser?  Would  it  be  if  the  number  were 
trebled?  Where  will  you  fix  the  proportion  between 
those  who  should  and  those  who  should  not  have  the 
advantage  of  a  relatively  full  period  of  study,  provided 
the  world  of  study  be  made  in  all  parts  a  live  world? 

I  take  the  opportunity  in  the  time  remaining  to  speak 
of  the  effect  of  the  extension  of  the  actual  period  of  edu- 
cation upon  the  life  of  the  average  school.  In  my 
judgment  it  would  invigorate  the  whole  school  system. 
The  most  stimulating  influences  work  from  above  down. 
It  is  the  university  as  the  home  of  research  that  invig- 
orates the  college,  it  is  the  college  with  its  broad  courses 
and  generous  activities  which  quickens  the  secondary 
school,  it  is  the  secondary  school  with  its  close  applica- 
tion and  definite  object  which  gives  quahty  and  tone  and 
direction  to  the  elementary  school.  All  this  is  true  in 
a  strict  educational  sense.  One  of  the  failures  of 
American  education  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  does  not 
carry  education  far  enough  along  to  feel  its  social  effect. 
The  common  school  is  a  democratic  institution,  but  it 
is  more  democratic  the  higher  it  reaches.  The  high 
school  is  more  democratic  than  the  primary  school, 
because  those  who  reach  that  grade  know  the  meaning 
of  the  common  social  life.  The  average  college  is  the 
most  democratic  institution  in  American  society.  It  is 
far  more  of  a  social  democracy  than  the  average  church. 
The  tests  of  merit  are  accessible  to  all;  the  test  may  be 
scholarship,  it  may  be  athletics,  it  may  be  good  fel- 
lowship. We  ought,  in  the  interest  of  American  society 
and  politics,  to  bring  a  larger  and  larger  number  under 


THE   RIGHTS    OF   EDUCATION        267 

the  influence  of  education  in  those  grades  where  it  works 
most  directly  to  the  ends  of  our  national  life. 

And  when  you  pass  to  the  influence  of  the  upper 
grades  upon  the  individual  you  find  that  the  influence 
multiplies  in  proportion  to  the  degree  in  which  one 
feels  that  he  is  a  part,  a  necessary  part,  of  the  school. 
That  is  what  membership  in  a  great  school,  with  great 
traditions,  with  large  purposes,  with  a  broad  and  gen- 
erous life,  means  to  every  member  of  it.  It  makes  the 
constant  appeal  to  his  loyalty,  to  his  honor,  to  his  enthu- 
siasm. When  Mr.  Goschen  said  that  Thomas  Hughes 
was  the  most  distinguished  schoolboy  that  ever  lived, 
he  meant  that  he  was  the  most  of  a  schoolboy  possible 
in  his  time.  He  lived  the  real  life  of  a  Rugby  boy,  he 
took  all  the  best  there  was  out  of  the  school  and  put  the 
best  he  had  into  it,  unconsciously  but  really. 

The  mission  of  a  great  school  is  to  accomplish  a  like 
result  in  every  member  of  it.  There  are  a  great  many 
schools  which  are  doing  this  very  thing.  We  are  begin- 
ning to  recognize  the  fact.  Every  year  the  graduates, 
not  only  of  colleges  but  of  academies  and  schools,  come 
together  to  recall  the  stimulus  which  came  out  of  the  old 
school  life,  not  yet  a  spent  force.  I  attended  recently 
the  celebration  of  the  150th  anniversary  of  a  church  in 
the  state  of  New  Hampshire.  The  figure  that  came  up 
out  of  the  past  with  most  frequent  reference  was  that 
of  an  old  time  school  mistress  in  a  district  school,  whose 
scholars  had  organized  themselves  into  an  association 
bearing  her  name.  We  want  to  increase  this  kind  of 
influence  by  every  possible  means.  We  want  to  make 
the  school  as  such,  every  school,  have  a  spirit,  a  senti- 
ment, an  atmosphere  that  every  member  of  it  may  feel. 
We  want  to  enlist  the  enthusiasm  of  every  schoolboy  in 


268  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

this  purpose.  We  want  to  make  it  an  object  of  ambi- 
tion and  pride  to  be  a  distinguished  schoolboy,  as  much 
so  as  to  be  a  distinguished  man  in  any  business  or  pro- 
fession. We  can  do  tliis  as  we  try  to  give  a  more  ample 
meaning  to  the  period  of  education ;  as  we  learn  to  look 
upon  it  ourselves  as  a  distinct  unit  of  time,  and  not  as 
a  fragment;  as  we  acknowledge  the  fact  that  it  has  its 
o^Ti  distinct  work  in  organizing  mind  and  character,  as 
great  as  any  which  may  follow;  and  as  we  give  to  this 
world  of  early  struggle  and  work  and  sport  and  fellow- 
ship its  appropriate  and  well  earned  rights. 

And  this  result,  if  it  come  at  all,  must  be  brought 
about  from  witliin.  That  is  why  I  am  speaking  to  you 
who  are  teachers,  or  friends  of  education.  We  can 
make  just  as  big  a  place  for  the  educational  spirit  to 
inhabit  as  we  are  capable  of  making.  Outward  circum- 
stances will  gradually  yield  to  the  large  and  vital  idea 
of  education  which  we  believe  in  and  know  how  to  illus- 
trate. I  have  gone  into  a  town  where  the  schools  were 
of  no  value — without  efficiency  in  training,  without 
enthusiasm  in  study  or  even  play.  Again  I  have  seen 
that  same  town  with  a  well  organized  system,  suitable 
buildings,  and  teaching  that  gave  impulse  and  growth. 
The  justification  for  the  old  state  of  affairs  was  that  the 
town  was  stingy  and  the  people  indifferent.  The  rea- 
son for  the  new  state  of  affairs  was  that  a  live  teacher 
and  organizer  had  come  into  the  community  and  begun 
his  work.  The  community  could  not  withstand  him. 
Interest  was  awakened,  and  money  followed  as  a  matter 
of  course. 

I  have  seen  the  like  result  in  the  effect  upon  the 
young  life  of  a  community,  schools  which  were  left  as 
soon  as  the  growing  boy  could  get  away  from  them, 


THE    RIGHTS    OF    EDUCATIOX        269 

changed  into  schools  which  held  him  to  the  end  and  then 
sent  him  to  college.  And  the  change  had  the  same  rea- 
son. There  is  nothing  impossible  in  any  local  situation 
to  a  great  teacher.  Given  Thomas  Arnold,  and  you 
have  Thomas  Hughes,  and  then  in  due  time  another 
Rugby,  another  Oxford,  a  new  educational  life  in  the 
countrv'  at  large. 


XIX 

ARRESTED    EDUCATION— HOW    DISCOV- 
ERED 

Delivered  at  Rutland,  Vt,,  before  the  State  Teachers'  Conven- 
tion 

If  the  subject  which  I  introduce  this  evening  foUows 
you  out  of  school  hours  and  beyond  the  immediate  tech- 
nique of  your  business,  I  see  no  reason  for  apology.  I 
think  that  I  have  the  right  to  assume  that  we  are  con- 
cerned not  only  with  the  methods  of  our  work,  but  quite 
as  much  with  its  result,  and  especially  with  the  final 
outcome  of  it  as  it  appears  in  the  general  social  devel- 
opment. Of  course  we  are  intensely  interested  in  the 
individual  future  of  our  pupils.  Every  teacher  follows 
the  career  of  those  whom  he  has  taught  with  pride  or 
with  anxiety,  until  the  individual  is  lost  to  view.  But 
we  are  interested  in  the  direct  future  of  our  pupils  in  a 
much  broader  way.  Those  who  go  out  from  our  public 
schools,  whether  by  graduation  or  at  any  earlier  stage  by 
withdrawal,  become  the  proper  subjects  of  a  wide  social 
study,  a  social  study  in  which  I  believe  that  we  ought 
to  engage  as  a  legitimate  after  part  of  our  work.  We 
ought  to  know,  that  is,  what  becomes  of  those  edu- 
cational tendencies  which  we  have  developed,  and 
guarded,  and  tried  to  direct.  Do  they  return  into  the 
life  of  the  growing  boy  or  girl  to  be  undistinguished  or 
lost  for  want  of  continued  discipline?  Do  they  mate- 
rialize and  harden  into  business  capacity,  and  find  their 
equivalent  in  a  certain  commercial  value  to  the  individ- 


ARRESTED  EDUCATION  271 

ual  and  to  the  community?  Or  are  they  also  perpet- 
uated along  more  advanced  educational  lines,  the  man, 
whatever  may  be  his  vocation,  still  at  school  in  the  world, 
never  quite  able  to  outgrow  the  impulse  which  we  gave 
the  boy? 

Now  these  are  not  questions  of  statistics.  I  am  not 
asking  how  many  of  our  pupils  enter  the  professions, 
how  many  engage  in  business,  how  many  build  houses, 
how  many  fall  back  into  the  commonplace,  how  many 
fall  below  that  into  demoralization  and  disgrace.  My 
question  is  more  profound  and  vital.  I  want  to  know, 
as  one  whose  business  is  education,  what  becomes  of  the 
educational  impulse  upon  which  we  have  been  at  work, 
and  which  we  have  been  trying  to  develop  and  save.  Is 
that  preserved  and  given  a  chance  after  the  days  of 
school,  or  does  it  grow  weak  and  fail  when  it  touches 
the  world?  And  if  it  fails  whose  fault  is  it?  Is  it  the 
fault  of  the  individual,  or  of  his  education,  or  of  society? 
And  especially  as  to  the  last,  does  society,  as  we  know 
it,  make  a  proper  educational  connection  with  the  pubhc 
school  ?  Does  it  offer  incentives  and  inducements  to  the 
further  development  of  the  intellectual  Hfe? 

It  is  into  this  region  of  inquiry  that  I  would  lead  you 
for  a  little  time.  And  to  be  as  definite  as  possible,  I 
restrict  myself  to  the  single  question  of  the  educational 
in  distinction  from  the  commercial  outcome  of  the  train- 
ing of  the  public  school. 

In  making  this  distinction  I  at  once  concede  and 
affirm  that  there  is  a  commercial  value  which  is  the  legit- 
imate outcome  of  the  training  of  the  public  school.  It 
is  entirely  proper  to  transmute  knowledge  into  dollars 
and  cents.  Knowledge  as  it  is  clear,  and  exact,  and  rare 
has  a  market  value.     There  should  be  no  separation 


272  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

between  education  and  life  in  its  most  necessary  and  in 
its  most  bm'densome  activities.  I  confess  to  a  growing 
respect  for  the  man  w^ho  knows  how  to  earn  his  hving, 
and  who  proposes  that  his  children  shall  know  how  to 
earn  their  living.  It  is  becoming  more  and  more  neces- 
sary that  every  capable  man  shall  see  to  it  that  no 
child  of  his  shall  become  a  burden  upon  society.  Society 
is  already  staggering  under  the  burden  of  the  incapa- 
bles,  a  much  heavier  burden  than  that  of  its  actual 
paupers.  The  capacity  to  earn  an  honest  livelihood, 
even  though  the  occasion  for  it  may  not  always  seem  to 
be  present,  is  the  demand  which  society  has  the  right  to 
make  of  all  its  members.  This  is  the  primitive  demand, 
and  we  can  never  get  safely  beyond  it.  An  honest  live- 
lihood is  the  starting  point  in  all  our  social  progress, 
and  the  point  to  which  we  are  always  obliged  to  return 
whenever  we  ignore  it. 

More  than  this,  an  honest  livehhood  is  the  foundation 
of  the  social  sentiment  of  a  community.  The  earning 
power  of  a  young  man  determines  first  the  fact  of  a 
home,  and  then  the  character  of  the  home.  The  extra 
knowledge,  the  additional  mental  discipline,  which  can 
be  commuted  into  the  extra  wage  means  more  comfort, 
more  refinement,  more  social  prosperity.  There  is  a 
material  element  in  family  affection.  When  a  family  is 
too  poor  to  be  decent  it  is  too  poor  to  be  affectionate. 
We  are  never  to  allow  ourselves  therefore  to  think  of 
the  commercial  value  of  an  education  as  representing 
anything  mercenary,  especially  in  its  lower  stages.  An 
education  which  stands  for  an  honest  livelihood  is  the 
foundation  of  the  social  structure  within  wliich  the  vir- 
tues and  affections,  all  those  qualities  which  go  to  make 
up  the  fine  sentiment  of  a  people,  are  safe.     It  is  for 


ARRESTED  EDUCATION  273 

this  reason  that  we  ought  to  encourage  in  all  ways  the 
establishment,  wherever  practicable,  of  manual  train- 
ing schools. 

And  yet  when  I  acknowledge  and  emphasize,  as  I 
now  do,  the  cormnercial  outcome  of  the  training  of  the 
public  school,  I  wish  to  emphasize  still  more  the  fact 
that  there  is  another  outcome  which  is  more  possible  and 
more  practicable  than  we  are  wont  to  conceive,  namely, 
the  educational.  And  I  hope  to  show  as  I  proceed  how 
greatly  the  opportunities  are  increasing  for  the  expan- 
sion and  refinement  of  the  intellectual  life,  when  once 
it  has  been  awakened  under  the  training  of  the  school, 
even  though  the  process  may  stop  short  of  what  we  term 
a  liberal  education. 

It  is  a  marvellous  thing,  is  it  not,  that  any  one  of  us 
should  be  able  to  have  the  intellectual  possession  of  the 
world,  able,  that  is,  to  see  it  with  his  own  eyes,  to  hear  it 
with  his  own  ears,  to  handle  it  with  his  own  hands,  to 
call  the  world  at  some  point  or  in  some  part  his  own. 
And  the  marvel  of  this  kind  of  ownership  increases  as 
men  multiply,  and  knowledge  grows,  for  the  faculty  to 
possess  is  very  great,  even  if  the  creative  faculty  be 
wanting,  if,  as  Matthew  Arnold  says,  one  may  not 
"compose  the  poem  in  his  soul."  That  one  may  under- 
stand and  interpret  to  himself  in  some  measure  the 
outer  world  in  which  he  is  to  live  is  certainly  one  of  the 
simplest  and  most  primary  offices  of  education.  What 
is  it  to  miss  altogether  that  understanding  and  inter- 
pretation, to  be  as  if  one  were  living  in  any  other  world, 
if  such  indifference  could  be  called  life!  It  is  the  com- 
monplace of  the  preacher  when  he  would  enforce  the 
idea  of  a  present  moral  responsibility,  "we  shall  not 
pass  this  way  again."     It  should  be,  I  think,  the  like 

18 


274  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

commonplace  of  the  teacher  in  enforcing  the  present 
intellectual  opportunity,  "we  shall  not  pass  this  way 
again."  Whatever  may  be  the  intellectual  future  of 
any  human  being,  none  of  us  can  repeat  the  conditions 
of  present  knowledge.  To  know  this  world  of  nature 
which  is  becoming  more  and  more  accessible,  this  world 
of  hving  men  which  is  becoming  more  and  more  inter- 
esting, though  sometimes  with  a  painful  interest,  this 
world  of  historic  thought  and  achievement,  this  world 
of  obligation  and  duty  and  sacrifice — knowledge  of  this 
sort  must  come  while  we  are  in  and  of  the  world.  And 
something  of  this  knowledge  is  now  possible  and  easy. 
The  average  person  can  have  a  reasonable  share  in  this 
intellectual  ownership.  Unconsciously,  often  unwill- 
ingly, he  is  put  in  the  way  to  gain  it.  The  veriest 
truant  in  our  streets  may  be  brought  to  the  sense  of  his 
intellectual  birthright,  and  made  to  see  the  value  of  his 
inheritance. 

I  do  not  wish  to  speak  in  any  exaggerated  way  of  the 
purely  educational  function  of  the  public  school.  I 
have  already  allowed  that  under  present  conditions  we 
must  be  satisfied,  in  the  great  majority  of  cases,  in 
reaching  the  true  commercial  end  of  the  school,  pro- 
vided only  that  we  never  lower  our  ideals  here  and  suffer 
the  commercial  to  degenerate  into  the  mercenary.  But 
there  is  a  growing  chance,  I  believe,  to  maintain  and 
perpetuate  what  I  have  called  the  educational  impulse. 
Opportunities  are  increasing  for  boys  and  girls,  for 
young  men  and  women,  to  carry  on  their  intellectual 
work  after  leaving  school.  Out  of  that  large  class  which 
leaves  school  between  the  ages  of  fourteen  and  eighteen 
there  are  many  who  would  continue  if  it  were  possible. 
Their  minds  have  been  fairly  organized  and  developed 


ARRESTED  EDUCATION  275 

for  study,  their  ambition  has  been  aroused,  their  imag- 
ination quickened,  and  their  taste  refined.  It  is  a  per- 
sonal grief  to  some  of  them  to  be  obliged  to  forego  fur- 
ther study.  Meanwhile  it  is  becoming  possible  to  aid 
many  of  them  in  carrying  out  their  unfulfilled  desires. 
The  system  of  evening  schools  in  the  larger  towns, 
classes  organized  under  the  auspices  of  various  associa- 
tions, social  and  literary  clubs,  free  public  libraries,  uni- 
versity extension,  are  indications  of  the  movement  in 
society  to  perpetuate  the  work  of  the  public  school,  espe- 
cially when  it  cannot  be  completed  in  the  regular  way. 
The  principal  of  the  Evening  High  School  in  Boston 
said  to  me  this  week  that  it  was  entirely  possible  for  a 
young  man  of  seventeen,  who,  as  he  expressed  it,  knew 
nothing,  to  carry  on  his  work  by  day,  and  fit  himself  for 
college  in  seven  years.  The  point  which  I  now  wish 
to  urge  is  that  we,  as  teachers,  shall  inform  ourselves 
in  regard  to  all  existing  facilities  for  extending  the 
work  of  the  pubhc  school,  that  we  shall  encourage  all 
endeavors  in  this  direction,  and  that  we  shall  urge  our 
pupils  to  avail  themselves  of  these  aids  whenever  prac- 
ticable ;  in  a  word,  that  we  shall  do  what  we  can  to  stop 
the  enormous  waste  of  educational  force,  which  has  been 
generated  in  the  public  school,  for  want  of  continued 
employment. 

I  am  about  to  speak  in  some  detail  of  these  educa- 
tional aids  to  the  public  school,  but  for  the  moment  let 
me  pause  to  remind  you  of  the  danger  of  a  degraded 
education.  All  elementary  education  may  open  the 
mind  to  the  evil  side  of  the  world  as  well  as  to  the  good 
side.  It  is  quite  possible  to  over-estimate  the  moral 
safeguards  of  education.  A  certain  amount  of  mental 
training  is  necessary  to  some  kinds  of  vice,  and  to  some 


276  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

kinds  of  crime.  The  awakening  of  the  mind,  especially 
the  imagination,  introduces  its  own  danger  into  the 
yomig  life.  "I  would  have  you  wise,"  Paul  wrote  to 
the  men  and  women  in  Rome  who  were  just  beginning 
to  awake  under  the  stimulus  of  the  new  faith  and  to 
whom  the  city  was  therefore  a  more  serious  danger,  "I 
would  have  you  wise  to  that  which  is  good,  and  simple 
concerning  evil" — not  simpletons,  but  single-minded. 
True,  the  education  of  the  book  is  no  more  dangerous 
than  that  of  the  street  without  the  book,  and,  unlike  that 
of  the  street,  it  has  its  own  corrective :  still  we  must  face 
the  fact  that  we  sharpen  the  mind  to  bad  thought  and 
bad  purpose  when  no  care  is  taken  as  to  the  applica- 
tion of  mental  power.  The  danger  from  a  degraded 
education  lies  almost  entirely  in  the  want  of  oppor- 
tunity to  put  it  to  noble  service;  at  least  there  lies  the 
greatest  amount  of  preventable  danger.  So  that  our 
interest  in  the  more  human  side  of  our  work  goes  over 
into  the  provision  which  society  has  made,  or  may  make, 
or  mav  be  made  to  make,  for  the  use  or  continuance  in 
some  form  of  an  elementary  or  even  higher  education. 
But  quite  apart  from  this  danger  of  a  degraded  edu- 
cation, lies  the  problem,  with  which  I  am  now  chiefly 
concerned,  of  an  arrested  education.  Every  teacher 
continually  laments  the  loss  of  some  of  the  brightest 
minds  in  the  school  who  are  obliged  to  put  the  education 
they  already  have  to  commercial  uses  prematurely. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  they  will  put  it  to  faithful  use, 
but  they  cannot  be  satisfied  with  the  earning  power  of 
an  education.  The  sacred  fire  has  begun  to  burn,  and 
they  would  not  quench  it.  The  impulse  within  them  is 
strong  and  urgent  for  a  larger  knowledge  and  a  richer 
culture.    Now  is  it  possible  for  any  considerable  num- 


ARRESTED  EDUCATION  277 

ber  of  those  who  are  obliged  to  leave  school  for  work,  to 
continue  to  study,  read,  think,  to  carry  on  and  develop 
the  ordinary  processes  of  the  intellectual  life  ?  Well,  an 
illustration  is  better  than  an  argument.  And  you  will 
allow  me  to  take  the  illustrations  I  use  from  personal 
knowledge. 

I  have  knowledge  of  a  club  in  Boston  made  up  of 
young  men  and  women  in  about  equal  proportions,  num- 
bering some  seventy  five  members.  The  ages  range 
from  eighteen  to  thirty.  The  club  is  composed  of  sev- 
eral nationalities,  about  one  third  being  Americans,  one 
third  Irish  Americans,  and  the  other  third  from  the  vari- 
ous peoples  now  coming  into  the  city.  The  members 
also  represent  different  trades  and  occupations,  paint- 
ers, hatters,  tailors,  clerks,  reporters,  type-writers, 
seamstresses,  and,  in  one  or  two  cases,  teachers.  Most 
of  the  number  attend  as  far  as  possible  the  Evening 
High  School.  This  club,  made  up  of  seemingly  hetero- 
geneous material,  but  actuated  by  one  purpose,  meets 
every  Saturday  evening,  at  the  South  End  House.  The 
average  attendance  is  from  forty  to  fifty.  An  evening 
may  be  spent  in  the  familiar  discussion  of  an  author 
read  in  common,  or  of  an  historic  character.  Some- 
times the  session  takes  the  form  of  an  intellectual  experi- 
ence meeting.  What  was  the  first  thing  which  wakened 
you,  what  book,  what  incident,  or  who,  if  a  person,  were 
questions  which  recently  drew  out  a  most  vivid  and  in- 
structive discussion.  There  is  an  occasional  diversion 
in  the  way  of  music  or  art.  And  the  present  year  the 
club  will  attempt  more  directly  continuous  work  than 
heretofore,  embracing  at  least  one  course  of  lectures  in 
literature,  and  another  in  natural  science.  In  the  sum- 
mer the  club  makes  an  occasional  pilgrimage,  not  an  ex- 


278  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

cursion,  but  a  pilgrimage,  as  notably  a  recent  one  to 
Concord,  Mass.  The  club,  it  should  be  said,  is  known 
as  the  Emerson  Club. 

I  doubt  not  that  this  club  can  be  duplicated  a  good 
many  times  over  in  the  different  cities  of  the  country; 
the  more  times  the  better  for  my  argument.  I  have 
referred  in  detail  to  this  particular  one,  because  it  has 
come  under  my  notice,  and  because  it  illustrates,  as  well 
as  any,  one  way  of  perpetuating  the  educational  impulse 
of  the  training  of  the  public  school. 

Another  illustration,  a  little  older,  and  therefore  of 
more  assured  value,  is  before  me.  When  I  entered  upon 
my  professional  life  in  the  city  of  Manchester,  New 
Hampshire,  I  found  there  quite  a  body  of  young  men 
of  my  own  age,  or  a  httle  older,  identified  in  various 
ways  with  the  educational,  literary,  and  social  life  of  the 
town,  who  were  not  college  graduates,  but  who  were 
taking  their  place  side  by  side  with  those  who  were. 
Upon  inquiry  I  learned  that  their  intellectual  standing 
in  the  community  was  due  chiefly  to  the  fact  that  they 
had  organized,  as  they  were  obliged  to  leave  the  public 
schools,  what  was  then  known  as  a  lyceum,  into  which 
they  had  put  their  intellectual  holdings,  and  from  which 
they  drew  in  time  an  abundant  return.  That  was  their 
way  of  putting  their  money  to  the  exchanger's.  And 
as  a  result,  they  earned  for  themselves  and  still  maintain 
a  most  enviable  intellectual  position  in  the  community, 
which  they  are  bequeathing  to  their  children. 

Now  in  these  and  like  cases  no  one  can  overestimate 
the  enrichment  of  life  which  results  from  these  endeav- 
ors for  continued  self -improvement.  This  world  means 
to  these  young  men  and  young  women  something  quite 
different  from  that  which  it  would  mean  to  them,  if  it 


ARRESTED  EDUCATION  279 

were  bounded  by  the  shop,  the  store,  the  street,  or  even 
the  daily  paper.  There  is  precisely  the  same  difference 
in  mental  thrift  that  there  is  in  industrial  thrift.  One 
mind  spends  as  it  goes,  and  never  has  any  deposit  to  its 
account,  much  less  any  capital.  Another  mind  appro- 
priates and  saves  a  share  of  the  intellectual  wealth  of 
the  world — the  only  wealth  of  which  there  is  enough  to 
go  round,  and  about  which  there  can  be  no  question  as 
to  the  standard  of  value.  And  it  is  a  wealth,  too,  in 
respect  to  which  we  are  to  remember  that  he  who  saves 
contributes  as  well  as  he  who  earns.  The  maker  of  a 
good  book  evidently  increases  that  wealth;  so  does  the 
reader  of  a  good  book;  for  intellectual  wealth  lies  in 
the  amount  of  mind  there  is  in  the  world. 

Not  to  delay,  however,  upon  these  peculiar  means, 
let  me  urge  upon  you  as  a  further  means  to  the  end 
before  us,  a  more  complete  alliance  between  the  public 
school  and  the  public  library.  I  speak  of  an  alliance 
between  the  free  public  school  and  the  free  public 
library,  for  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  of  advantage  to 
make  the  library  a  part  of  the  school  system  of  the  state. 
There  are  states  where  this  is  done,  but  with  less  result 
as  a  rule  than  when  the  two  interests  are  separated 
under  different  managers.  In  your  own  state  the 
attempt  was  made,  I  have  been  told,  some  years  ago  to 
found  agricultural  libraries,  but  with  comparatively 
little  success.  The  books  were  soon  scattered  and  lost. 
Through  the  kindness  of  J.  A.  DeBoer,  Esquire,  of 
Montpelier  I  learn  that  your  law  empowers  towns  to 
establish  and  maintain  public  libraries,  and  appropri- 
ate for  suitable  buildings  or  rooms,  and  for  the 
foundation  of  such  a  library,  a  sum  not  exceeding  two 
dollars  for  each  of  the  ratable  polls  in  such  towns  in 


280  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

each  preceding  year;  and  also  to  appropriate  annu- 
ally for  the  maintenance,  care,  and  increase  thereof  a 
sum  not  exceeding  one  dollar  for  each  of  the  ratable 
polls  in  the  preceding  year.  This  is  the  act  of  1884, 
which  doubles  the  rates  of  the  act  of  1867,  which 
allowed  one  dollar  for  establishing,  and  fifty  cents  a  poll 
for  maintaining  a  public  library.  I  also  learn  from  the 
same  source  that  in  1892  out  of  243  towns  in  the  state 
92  had  public  libraries ;  and  24  out  of  these  92  were  free 
public  libraries.* 

Massachusetts,  as  you  are  aware,  has  gone  a  step  fur- 
ther, and  by  the  enactment  of  1890  furnishes  a  certain 
amount  of  state  aid,  as  a  stimulus  to  the  establishment 
of  free  public  libraries  by  the  towns.  This  act,  after  con- 
stituting a  board  of  library  commissioners,  authorizes 
the  payment  of  a  sum  not  exceeding  one  hundred  dol- 
lars for  the  purchase  of  books  wherever  any  town  not 
having  a  free  public  hbrary  shall  establish  one.  The 
act  further  requires  that  any  town  accepting  this  aid 
shall  provide  by  tax  the  sum  of  $50,  or  $25  annually, 
according  to  the  valuation  of  the  town,  for  the  main- 
tenance of  a  library. 

Fifty-two  towns  have  already  complied  with  the  con- 
ditions of  this  act,  so  that  out  of  the  352  towns  and  cities 
of  the  state  227  contain  free  public  libraries  which  are 
entirely  under  municipal  control,  and  72  contain  libra- 
ries which  are  practically  free  but  not  altogether  under 
municipal  control.  There  are  now  but  53  towns  in  the 
state,  and  this  number  is  soon  to  be  lessened  by  four,  ( a 
little  less  than  one  fifth  of  the  whole  number,)  which 
have  not  public  libraries. 

*  Without  doubt  more  recent  statistics  would  show  a  considerable  increase 
above  the  facts  given,  but  the  facts  as  given  illustrate  the  method  urged. 


ARRESTED  EDUCATION  281 

The  free  public  library  represents,  I  believe,  the 
next  step  in  popular  education,  provided  the  people 
know  how  to  use  it.  It  is  at  this  point  that  the  public 
school  must  come  to  the  aid  of  the  library.  When  one 
has  been  taught  to  read  he  has  by  no  means  been  taught 
how  to  use  books.  The  use  of  books  is  a  distinct  art,  in 
a  certain  sense  quite  distinct  from  the  art  of  reading, 
and  one  part  of  the  art  is  to  know  how  not  to  read  a 
book,  and  yet  how  to  get  out  of  it  all  that  one  needs  or 
wants.  A  very  small  per  cent  of  literature  is  for  study. 
Another  per  cent,  hardly  larger,  is  for  reading,  for  that 
delightful  inspiration  and  enjoyment  which  comes  from 
the  interchange  of  thought  between  an  author  and 
reader.  As  for  the  great  mass  of  literature,  including 
much  that  is  of  greatest  value,  it  is  simply  for  reference, 
or  mere  acquaintance.  And  unless  the  child  learns  how 
to  make  this  distinction  he  will  be  simply  overpowered 
by  books,  or  will  read  without  discrimination.  Indis- 
criminate reading  is  intellectually  demoralizing.  A 
well  trained  mind  may  choose  to  read  a  comparatively 
foolish  book,  (by  foolish  books  I  do  not  mean  humorous 
books  which  are  sometimes  the  wisest  we  have,)  but 
choosing  to  read  a  foolish  book  is  a  very  different  thing 
from  reading  it  because  one  does  not  know  any  better. 
Desultory  reading,  which  comes  from  the  want  of  abil- 
ity to  choose  what  to  read,  or  how  to  read,  is  at 
the  farthest  remove  from  education.  It  untwists  the 
fibres  of  the  mind  which  the  training  of  the  school  had 
begun  to  weave  into  a  strong  and  compact  force. 

The  teacher  therefore  can  do  an  immense  service  for 
those  whose  early  training  is  to  close  with  that  of  the 
public  school,  if  he  shows  them  in  simple  ways  how  to 
use  books.    That  school  is  very  poorly  furnished,  which 


282  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

does  not  have  a  small  reference  library,  where  children 
can  be  taught  in  this  art.  The  same  connection  should 
be  made  between  some  text  books  and  a  library  as 
between  other  text  books  and  nature.  Nature  does  not 
confuse  a  child  taught  to  make  the  right  use  of  it: 
neither  should  the  world  of  books.  And  the  boy  thus 
taught  may  continue  his  education  if  he  will  in  the  pub- 
lic library,  rather  than  be  left  to  the  demoralizing  effect 
of  merely  desultory  reading. 

I  go  a  step  further  and  refer  to  the  aid  which  may 
come  in  time  in  solving  this  problem  of  an  arrested  edu- 
cation through  the  working  of  the  system  of  university 
extension.  Strictly  speaking  we  are  not  yet  ready  for 
university  extension.  The  university  method,  which  is 
that  of  research,  investigation,  discovery,  is  hardly  estab- 
lished as  yet  in  our  higher  schools  and  colleges.  It 
means  personal  and  original  work.  It  is  not  simply 
hstening  to  lectures :  it  is  reading,  studying  and  experi- 
menting with  a  view  to  producing  something.  It  can 
hardly  be  said  that  we  have  as  yet  in  our  best  communi- 
ties an  amount  of  trained  mind,  outside  that  which  is 
already  fully  engaged  in  intellectual  pursuits,  which  is 
prepared  for  it.  Intelligence  is  not  a  sufficient  basis  for 
university  extension  to  work  upon.  It  differs,  for  exam- 
ple, quite  widely  in  its  method  from  that  of  the  old 
lyceum,  which  had  such  power  in  forming  opinion  a 
generation  or  more  ago  in  New  England.  The  aim  of 
that  method  was  largely  moral.  The  subjects  which  it 
introduced  were  for  the  most  part  very  earnest  sub- 
jects. Most  of  the  lecturers  were  reformers.  The 
spirit  of  the  institution  was  embodied  in  the  reply  of. 
Wendell  Phillips  to  a  committee  man  who  asked  him 
for  his  terms — "Let  me  take  my  subject,"  which  was 


ARRESTED  EDUCATION  283 

always  some  phase  of  the  anti-slavery  question,  "and 
I'll  come  for  nothing:  for  any  other  subject  $75.00" 
And  even  then  it  should  be  said  that  the  payment  of  the 
$75.00  seldom  precluded  the  introduction  of  the  subject 
somewhere. 

University  extension  has  an  important  part  to  play  as 
an  adjunct  of  the  public  school  system.  As  its  method 
is  adopted  with  proper  adaptation  in  the  lower  grades 
of  instruction,  the  more  advanced  pupils  of  our  public 
schools  may  graduate  into  it.  It  combines  some  of  the 
best  features  of  the  club  and  of  the  class.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  it  will  in  time  absorb  a  considerable  part  of 
the  somewhat  aimless  leisure  of  the  trained  minds  in 
many  of  our  smaller  as  well  as  larger  communities. 

It  was  not  in  the  original  intention  of  my  subject  to 
speak  of  the  increasing  opportunity  for  making  the 
public  school  more  tributary  to  what  we  term  a  liberal 
education,  but  it  is  entirely  germane  to  my  subject,  and 
I  will  not  close  without  referring  to  it.  The  channel 
from  the  public  school  to  the  college  is  now  entirely  clear 
and  open.  We  of  the  colleges  are  continually  making 
claims  upon  the  secondary  schools,  and  yet  we  are 
obliged  to  confess  that  the  school  has  made  greater  rela- 
tive advance  during  the  last  twenty  years  than  the  col- 
lege. It  could  not  well  have  been  otherwise.  The  col- 
lege is  set  down  within  fixed  limits  in  the  early  years — 
say  from  eighteen  to  twenty  two.  At  the  very  best 
therefore  it  can  cover  only  a  certain  discipline  and 
a  certain  range  of  subject.  The  school  has  the  longer 
chance,  though  years  of  course  are  not  alike  in  value, 
for  improvement  in  method  and  for  advance  in  the  sub- 
ject matter  of  instruction.  A  pertinent  illustration  of 
the  relative  gain  of  the  school  upon  the  college  occurs  to 


284  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

me  within  my  immediate  knowledge.  Forty  years  ago 
a  scientific  school  was  established  in  connection  with 
Dartmouth  College  by  the  bequest  of  a  citizen  of  Mas- 
sachusetts. The  permanent  condition  of  the  founda- 
tion was  that  the  school  should  always  make  connection 
with  the  public,  or,  as  he  termed  it,  common  school  sys- 
tem of  New  England.  The  requirements  for  admission 
should  never  be  advanced  beyond  the  studies  taught  in 
that  system,  and  subjects  were  prescribed  which  should 
be  taught  in  the  school.  Gradually  the  public  schools 
grew  upon  the  original  requirements,  and  finally  out- 
grew some  of  the  subjects  actually  prescribed  in  the 
course.  Students  began  to  come  overfitted.  It  was 
necessary  to  eliminate  the  subjects  which  they  had 
already  pursued.  At  last  the  gain  was  so  great  that 
the  school  was  incorporated  into  the  college  as  its 
scientific  course,  and  put  on  a  par  under  certain  condi- 
tions with  the  classical  department.  The  public  school 
system,  that  is,  had  earned  its  way  into  the  college, 
while  at  the  same  time  the  college  had  been  making  its 
own  advance. 

The  question  then  is  no  longer  one  of  connection 
between  the  public  school  and  the  colleges.  It  is  partly 
a  question  of  pecuniary  means  in  the  case  of  individual 
students,  but  it  is  chiefly  a  question  of  motive.  Who 
shall  induce  the  boy  or  girl  to  pass  over  into  the  region 
of  a  liberal  education?  In  the  majority  of  cases  the 
teacher  more  often  than  the  parent.  And  if  it  be  asked 
why  the  motive  should  be  urged — what  is  the  real  advan- 
tage to  a  considerably  larger  number  of  the  pupils  in  our 
public  schools  of  a  liberal  education — I  should  give  an 
answer  which  may  perhaps  surprise  you,  but  which  I 
believe  holds  a  vital  truth.    The  advantage  of  the  liber- 


ARRESTED  EDUCATION  285 

ally  educated  man  over  the  self  trained  man  lies  in  the 
greater  amount  of  the  human  element  which  he  takes  up 
into  his  life.  The  self  trained  man  may  know  nature, 
or  books,  or  the  world  with  an  equal  carefulness  and 
perhaps  greater  certainty.  I  know  self  educated  men 
who  can  hold  a  better  argument  within  the  range  of 
their  education  than  most  college  men.  "Beware  of  the 
man  of  one  book,"  said  a  good  authority,  in  warning  his 
students  against  the  conceit  of  general  learning.  But 
the  college  man  ought  to  take  up  into  his  life,  as  I  think 
he  does  take  up  into  his  life,  a  great  deal  more  of  the 
life  of  other  men,  the  life  of  the  past  and  of  the  present. 
He  lives  and  works  under  personal  inspiration  and 
incentives.  In  place  of  the  advantage  of  isolation, 
which  I  grant  may  be  at  times  very  great,  he  has  the 
advantage  of  intellectual  competitions  and  conflicts,  of 
intellectual  partnership  and  friendships.  The  world 
grows  more  human  to  him  because  he  is  more  with  men, 
in  closer  contact  with  them.  He  is  for  a  time  a  part  of 
a  living  organism,  every  other  part  of  which  he  feels. 
Horace  Greeley  used  to  say  in  his  impatience,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  he  had  abundant  reason  for  saying  it — 
"From  college  graduates  and  all  other  horned  cattle, 
good  Lord  deliver  me."  But  it  is  apparent  that  the 
conditions  had  changed  when  Mr.  Dana,  who,  perhaps 
more  than  any  man  of  our  time,  took  Mr.  Greeley's 
place  in  journalism,  urgently  advised  a  liberal  educa- 
tion as  requisite  to  practical  journalism,  insisting  espe- 
cially upon  the  knowledge  of  the  humanities. 

This  address,  in  which  I  have  been  able  to  speak 
only  in  the  way  of  suggestion,  had  its  origin  in  my  ob- 
servation of  the  great  educational  waste  in  the  intel- 
lectual outcome  of  the  public  schools.     I  refer  simply  to 


286  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

the  outcome.  Impulses  are  started  which  are  lost: 
minds  are  organized  in  part  and  then  the  process  of  dis- 
integration begins  to  set  in :  a  course  is  begun  which  fails 
to  make  any  after  connection  with  the  world  of  thought. 
Something  of  this  waste  is  inevitable  under  present  con- 
ditions. It  is  impossible,  after  satisfying  what  I  have 
clearly  admitted  to  be  other  functions  of  the  public 
school,  to  transfer  completely  its  educational  function 
to  other  agencies.  But  something  can  be  done  through 
watchfulness,  invention,  and  influence  to  reduce  the 
waste.  I  have  tried  to  remind  you  of  our  part  in  the 
saving  process.  A  teacher  is  becoming  one  of  the  most 
permanent  factors  in  a  community,  and  partly  for  this 
reason  one  of  the  most  influential.  The  profession  has 
much  to  say,  and  much  to  do,  in  the  solution  of  our  social 
problems.  They  will  not  be  solved  by  any  one  agency. 
The  legislator,  the  producer  whether  by  capital  or  labor, 
the  economist,  the  social  and  religious  teacher,  all  have 
their  part  to  perform.  The  contribution  of  the  public 
school  teacher  to  society,  beyond  the  intelligent 
and  faithful  doing  of  his  work,  lies  in  the  following  up 
of  his  work.  What  becomes  of  those  who  go  out  from 
under  him?  What  becomes  of  the  educational  impulse 
and  tendency  which  it  has  been  his  greatest  ambition 
and  purpose  to  develop?  Let  him  add  to  the  teaching 
function  that  of  the  social  observer.  And  as  he  sees  the 
waste  of  mind  going  on  around  him,  the  very  mind  upon 
which  he  has  been  at  work,  let  him  study  the  methods 
of  conserving  and  perpetuating  the  legitimate  power 
and  influence  of  the  school. 

Must  I  pause,  as  I  close,  to  note  the  objection  that 
really  the  safety  of  society  lies  in  this  very  waste  of 
which  I  have  been  speaking?    Must  I  take  up  the  cry, 


ARRESTED  EDUCATION  287 

repeated  in  a  current  number  of  one  of  our  reviews,  that 
more  education  only  creates  more  discontent,  that  the 
more  you  educate  the  more  you  unfit,  and  that  the  grow- 
ing unfitness  of  men  and  women  for  real  life  because  of 
education  is  the  last  straw  which  is  to  break  the  back  of 
the  American  Democracy?  I  will  take  up  the  objection 
and  the  lament  for  the  moment.  Yes,  we  must  face  the 
issue.  Democracy,  as  we  know  it,  is  discontent,  a  part 
of  that  divine  discontent  which  leads  unceasingly  to  the 
betterment  of  the  individual  and  of  the  race.  There  is 
no  limit  to  it.  Unable,  if  we  would,  to  arrest  its  course 
in  other  fields,  we  must  not  draw  the  line  at  education. 
The  public  safety  lies  that  way.  There  is  the  outlet  for 
restless  ambition,  for  social  desire,  for  a  part  at  least  of 
the  higher  striving.  The  education  which  is  "of  the 
people"  and  "by  the  people"  must  be  more  and  more 
"for  the  people."  Democracy,  of  all  governments, 
allows  the  least  educational  waste. 


THE    SCHOOL   OF    THE    C0:MMUNITY 

Address  at  the  Dedication  of  the  High  School  Building,  NE^\TON, 

Mass.,  February  22,  190S 

I  take  advantage  of  this  occasion  to  speak  briefly 
upon  a  subject  which  has,  I  conceive,  a  social  as  well  as 
an  educational  significance — namely,  the  increasing 
value  of  the  local  factor  in  the  higher  education,  the  dis- 
tinction of  the  high  school  in  that  it  is  the  school  of 
the  community. 

The  higher  education  in  Xew  England,  as  afforded 
through  our  colleges  and  universities,  has  been  more 
representative  of  schools  and  families  than  of  conmiuni- 
ties.  It  has  been  thorouo-hly  democratic,  but  it  has  not 
been  evenly,  thouoh  it  mav  have  been  widely,  distrib- 
uted.  The  growth  of  the  high  school,  both  of  the  vil- 
lage and  of  the  city,  has  proved  to  be  a  most  timely 
corrective  of  this  serious  weakness  in  our  New  England 
educational  system.  Other  values  are  of  course  to  be 
put  to  the  credit  of  the  high  school.  I  shall  refer  to 
some  of  these  before  I  close,  but  for  the  most  part  I 
wish  to  speak  of  the  social  and  educational  effect  of  the 
high  school,  viewed  as  the  school  of  the  community, 
upon  tlie  higher  education. 

Secondary  education  in  New  Eni^land  is  ffoiuff  on 
chiefly  under  three  types.  First,  we  have  the  old 
endowed  schools  like  Phillips  Andover,  and  Phillips 
Exeter,  schools  whicli  have  the  advantage  of  noble  tra- 
ditions.    These  schools,  and  others  of  this  type,  were 


SCHOOL  OF  THE  COMMUNITY       289 

founded  not  only  in  consecration,  but  in  a  far  reaching 
sagacity.  They  were  intended  to  be  more  than  fitting 
schools,  and  have  for  that  reason  perhaps  become  the 
better  fitting  schools.  They  have  a  vi^ide  constituency; 
some  of  them  have  a  national  reputation.  They  draw  in 
part  mature  students.  Though  not  self-governing,  they 
represent  the  largest  degree  of  independence  on  the  part 
of  the  students  compatible  with  good  order  and  legiti- 
mate authority.  They  are  the  New  England  counter- 
part of  the  great  secondary  schools  of  England,  not  a 
reproduction,  but  a  distinct  outgrowth  of  New  England 
conditions  and  character. 

Then  we  have  as  a  more  recent  contribution  to  the 
secondary  school  development  of  New  England,  the 
school  which  is  the  outgrowth  of  the  rare  personality  of 
some  man  born  to  be  a  master,  able  to  impress  himself 
and  his  ideas  not  only  upon  his  pupils,  but  also  upon  his 
associates,  and  so  able  to  found  a  school  in  perpetuity. 
And  it  should  be  added  that  most  of  the  schools  of  this 
type  have  come  in  under  the  auspices,  though  not,  I 
believe,  under  the  direction  of  the  church,  which  has 
shown  remarkable  insight  and  skill  in  the  art  of  sec- 
ondary education.  Examples  of  this  type  are  the 
Groton  School,  and  St.  Paul's  at  Concord,  N.  H. 
These  schools  are  characterized  by  their  power  to  edu- 
cate through  their  ideals,  both  social  and  moral.  The 
pupils  are  under  complete  control  for  all  the  direct 
and  indirect  uses  and  influences  of  a  school.  The  train- 
ing of  the  home  goes  over  into  the  school,  but  the  master 
occupies  a  larger  place  than  the  parent.  He  brings  the 
pupil  under  a  carefully  devised  system  of  control  and 
inspiration,  the  object  of  which  is  to  deliver  a  well  bred 
and  well  trained  scholar  at  the  door  of  the  college.    The 

19 


290  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

constituency  of  this  type  is  largely  from  outside  New 
England,  but  the  type  is  a  distinct  and  interesting  con- 
tribution to  the  secondary  school  development  of  New 
England. 

And  then  we  have  as  the  third  type  of  secondary 
school   education,  the  high  school,  by  distinction  the 
school  of  the  community.     Many  schools  of  this  type 
have  their  great  traditions,  their  characteristics,  that  is, 
as  well  as  age — like  the  Boston  Latin  School,  the  Rox- 
bury  High,  and  others  in  this  immediate  vicinage.  Some 
of  them,  too,  have  received  in  their  formation  or  in  their 
history  the  stamp  of  some  great  master,  and  the  impres- 
sion then  received  has  become  an  ideal.    But  as  schools 
of  the  community  they  must  soon  or  late  take  the  for- 
tune   of    the    community.     The    essential    variation 
between  them  is  determined  by  locality.     We  cannot 
stop  with  any  classification  which  takes  account  simply 
of  good  teaching  and  poor  teaching,  of  large  equipment 
or  scant  equipment.     We  must  go  deeper.     We  have 
secondary  schools  which  represent  the  new  social  wealth 
of  the  suburban  community,  others  which  represent  the 
new  physical  wealth,  the  wealth  of  the  raw  material, 
especially    in    our    manufacturing    communities,    and 
others  which  are  recovering  the  almost  lost  moral  wealth 
of  our  old  rural  communities.     The  high  school  of  any 
community  is  altogether  dependent  upon  the  sense  of 
citizenship  in  that  community.    The  head  of  every  fam- 
ily stands  in  a  two-fold  relation  to  the  school,  as  a  par- 
ent and  as  a  citizen.    As  a  parent  he  has  the  option,  if 
he  has  the  means  to  gratify  it,  of  sending  his  children 
out  of  the  community  for  their  secondary  education. 
As  a  citizen  he  has  no  right  to  allow  the  secondary 
school  to  remain  in  such  a  condition  that  he  is  obliged 


SCHOOL  OF  THE  COMMUNITY       291 

to  send  his  children  elsewhere.  When  he  has  fulfilled 
his  duty  as  a  citizen  in  making  the  secondary  school  of 
his  community  a  proper  place  for  the  education  of  his 
children,  then  he  may  exercise  the  surplus  right  of  a 
parent  in  sending  his  children  wheresoever  he  will. 

But  this  is  not  a  homily  on  the  duties  of  citizenship, — 
I  am  to  speak  definitely  of  the  effect  which  the  high 
school,  viewed  as  the  school  of  the  community,  is  actu- 
ally producing  upon  the  higher  education. 

The  effect  is  distinctly  manifest  at  these  three  points : 

First.  It  is  introducing  a  new  and  valuable  constitu- 
ency into  our  colleges  and  universities.  Ten  years  ago 
Professor  Palmer  of  Harvard  wrote  in  his  treatise  on 
"The  New  Education" — "Although  Harvard  draws 
rather  more  than  one-third  of  her  students  from  outside 
New  England,  the  whole  number  of  students  who  have 
come  to  her  from  the  high  schools  of  these  states  dur- 
ing a  period  of  the  last  ten  years,  is  but  sixty-six.  Fit- 
ting for  college  is  becoming  an  alarmingly  technical 
matter,  and  is  falling  largely  into  the  hands  of  private 
tutors  and  academies."  Of  course  no  such  proportion 
as  this  to  which  Professor  Palmer  refers,  held  good 
within  New  England.  But  whatever  may  have  been  the 
relative  number  of  students  entering  Harvard  ten  years 
ago  from  the  high  schools  of  New  England,  I  am  sure 
that  the  proportion  now  must  be  much  greater. 

The  two  active  causes  which  send  students  to  college 
are  opportunity  and  incentive.  Opportunity  represents 
those  who  could  not  otherwise  go.  Incentive  represents 
those  who  would  not  otherwise  go.  The  high  school, 
as  the  school  of  the  conmiunity,  stands  in  an  increasing 
degree  for  both  opportunity  and  incentive.  It  is  dis- 
tributing these  active  causes  over  a  wider  and  wider 


292  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

area.    It  is  putting  them  at  work  in  all  localities,  avoid- 
ing waste,  and  ensuring  contact. 

In  some  cases  the  high  school  acts  as  an  incentive 
simply  by  taking  the  place  of  some  other  incentive. 
Those  who  are  reached  in  this  way  I  do  not  reckon 
among  the  new  constituency.  The  new  constituency 
consists  of  those  to  whom  the  high  school  stands  for 
opportunity,  and  the  only  opportunity.  Our  colleges 
are  becoming,  therefore,  through  the  agency  of  the  high 
school,  more  and  more  representative  of  the  entire  pop- 
ulation. They  have  always  been  democratic:  they  are 
now  becoming  thoroughly  representative.  Through  the 
gateway  of  the  locaHty  the  sons  of  every  race,  and  reli- 
gion, and  occupation,  find  their  natural  path  to  the  col- 
lege. 

And  I  would  emphasize  the  value,  as  I  have  empha- 
sized the  newness,  of  this  constituency  which  the  high 
school  is  creating.  If  we  are  to  maintain  the  necessary 
proportion  of  rare  and  great  men  we  must  keep  all  the 
ways  open  back  into  the  remotest  regions  of  human 
effort,  where  nature,  it  may  be,  is  doing  her  most  virile 
work.  Who  knows  where  to  look — how  far  back,  or 
how  far  down — for  the  next  statesman,  or  soldier,  or  dis- 
coverer, or  poet?  No  more  can  you  tell  where  to  look 
for  the  next  scholar.  Scholarship,  in  its  own  interest, 
like  everything  else,  must  keep  the  way  open  to  the  un- 
known sources  of  genius.  I  commend  to  you  the  word 
of  Professor  Marshall,  in  many  ways  the  broadest  and 
most  far  sighted  of  our  political  economists : 

"The  laws  which  govern  the  birth  of  genius,"  he  says, 
"are  inscrutable.  It  is  probable  that  the  percentage  of 
children  of  the  working  classes,  who  are  endowed  with 
natural  abilities  of  the  highest  order  is  not  so  great  as 


SCHOOL  OF  THE  COMMUNITY       293 

that  of  the  children  of  people  who  have  attained  or  have 
inherited  a  higher  position  in  society.  But  since  the 
manual  labor  classes  are  four  or  five  times  as  numer- 
ous as  all  other  classes  put  together,  it  is  not  unlikely 
that  more  than  half  of  the  best  natural  genius  that  is 
born  into  the  country  belongs  to  them:  and  of  this  a 
great  part  is  fruitless  for  want  of  opportunity.  There 
is  no  extravagance  more  prejudicial  to  the  growth  of 
national  wealth  than  that  wasteful  negligence  which 
allows  genius  that  happens  to  be  born  of  lowly  parent- 
age to  expend  itself  in  lowly  work.  No  change  would 
conduce  so  much  to  a  rapid  increase  of  material  wealth, 
as  an  improvement  in  our  schools,  and  especially  those 
of  the  middle  grade,  combined  with  an  extensive  system 
of  scholarships,  which  should  enable  the  clever  son  of  a 
working  man  to  rise  gradually  from  school  to  school  till 
he  had  the  best  theoretical  and  practical  education  which 
the  age  can  give." 

A  second  effect  produced  by  the  high  school,  the 
school  of  the  community,  has  been  the  broadening  of  the 
scope  of  the  higher  education,  at  least  of  the  college 
curriculum.  The  old-time  relation  of  the  college  to  the 
secondary  school  was  that  of  an  accepted  domination. 
The  secondary  school  was  assumed  to  exist  not  only  for 
the  college,  but  to  perpetuate  the  traditional  academic 
system.  What  the  college  said  ought  to  be  taught  was 
taught,  and  without  question.  The  subject  matter  of 
the  new  education  found  its  way  into  the  college  partly 
from  above,  through  the  investigations  carried  on  in  the 
universities,  and  partly  from  below,  through  the  grow- 
ing demands  of  the  high  schools,  which  could  not 
ignore  the  educational  conditions  out  of  which  they  were 
born.    The  first  concession  which  the  higher  education 


294  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

made  to  these  demands  was  the  establishment  of  the  sci- 
entific school  side  by  side  with  the  college.  These 
schools  when  established  were  on  a  lower  grade  than  the 
colleges.  The  endowment  of  them  in  some  cases — I  am 
sure  of  the  fact  in  regard  to  the  scientific  school  con- 
nected with  Dartmouth — stipulated  that  connection 
should  always  be  made  with  the  public  school  system  of 
New  England.  This  meant  that  the  requirements  for 
admission  should  be  adjusted  to  the  actual  teaching  of 
the  public  schools.  Gradually  the  high  school,  as  it 
found  a  larger  place  in  the  public  school  system,  was 
able  to  advance  its  preparation  beyond  the  requirements 
of  the  scientific  schools.  It  offered  new  material  for 
which  the  colleges  made  provision,  unwisely,  as  it  seems 
to  me,  but  naturally,  in  a  course  leading  to  an  intermedi- 
ate degree,  a  degree  between  the  scientific  and  the  clas- 
sical. And  the  last  result  of  the  expansion  of  the  high 
school  has  been  a  corresponding  widening  of  the  door 
of  entrance,  at  least  at  Harvard.  The  new  system  of 
admission  to  Harvard  virtually  makes  allowance  for  all 
subjects  which  are  well  taught  in  the  high  schools.  It 
has  always  been  the  contention  of  President  Eliot — I 
think  it  a  just  contention — that  no  courses  can  be 
framed  for  our  high  schools,  with  the  intention  of  fit- 
ting for  "life,"  which  can  on  the  whole  do  that  work  so 
well,  as  the  very  courses  which  fit  for  college :  and  fur- 
ther that  it  is  unfair  to  introduce  short  and  discon- 
nected courses,  which  must  throw  a  scholar  off  the  line, 
or  bring  him  to  a  pause,  provided  he  afterward  wishes 
to  take  a  college  course. 

The  contention  has  now  been  justified  by  the  pro- 
posed widening  of  the  terms  of  admission  to  Harvard. 
Thus  through  the  natural  growth  and  expansion  of 


SCHOOL  OF  THE   COMMUNITY       295 

the  high  school,  as  representing  the  educational  wants 
of  all  classes  in  a  given  community,  the  college  has 
absorbed  into  its  life,  in  an  orderly  and  legitimate  man- 
ner, the  wealth  which  lies  in  the  new  education. 

A  third  possible  effect  of  the  high  school  upon  the 
higher  education  is  to  be  deprecated.  I  refer  to  the 
tendency  to  place  the  graduates  of  the  high  school  at 
once  under  professional  training.  The  high  school 
has  been  so  far  advanced  that  it  meets  the  requirements 
of  some  professional  schools.  But  if  the  graduate  of 
the  high  school  can  be  admitted  to  the  professional 
school,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  he  can  afford  to  take 
the  privilege.  The  professional  school  may  care  only 
for  technical  qualifications.  The  man  himself  has  other 
interests  at  stake.  He  has  before  him  the  privilege  of 
being  an  educated  man,  as  well  as  of  being  a  technically 
trained  man.  The  question  is  not,  can  he  satisfy  his 
profession,  but  can  he  satisfy  himself,  and  those  larger 
requirements  of  society  which  are  not  bounded  by  one's 
profession  or  business.  I  know  the  reply — "One  cannot 
afford  the  time;  the  process  is  too  long.  The  high 
school  delivers  to  the  college  at  nineteen,  the  college  to 
the  professional  school  at  twenty-three,  the  professional 
school  into  the  world  at  twenty-six,  or  later  if  one  is  to 
be  a  specialist.  That  is  more  time  than  one  can  afford." 
With  the  privilege  of  making  an  exception,  I  must  deny 
the  premise.  As  Horace  Greeley  replied  to  the  man 
who  demanded  a  job  of  him,  on  the  ground  that  he  must 
live — "That,"  said  Mr.  Greeley,  "remains  to  be 
proven." 

Why  should  one  take  less  time  to  enter  upon  those 
callings  which  are  preceded  by  what  is  known  as  an  edu- 
cation, than  to  enter  upon  the  caUings  which  are  pre- 


296  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

ceded  by  an  apprenticeship?  "Mark  Twain"  has  stated 
the  present  business  situation  in  the  aphorism — "No 
occupation  without  an  apprenticeship;  no  pay  to  the 
apprentice."  In  what  business  may  one  expect  to  find 
himself  thoroughly  established,  with  full  influence  or 
authority  in  the  firm  or  corporation,  with  a  generous 
income,  and  possessed  of  a  home,  while  as  yet  he  is 
within  the  twenties  ?  Is  it  in  banking,  or  in  manufactur- 
ing, or  in  railroading,  or  in  general  trade?  How  much 
farther  along  is  the  man  of  business  at  thirty,  unless  he 
has  inherited  capital,  or  is  of  exceptional  capacity,  than 
the  lawyer  or  doctor  at  that  age?  The  open  fact  is  that 
society  is  growing  more  complicated,  its  demands  are 
more  exacting,  and  consequently  personal  advancement 
is  slower.  Just  as  surely  as  the  rate  of  interest  is  declin- 
ing so  surely  are  we  all  coming  under  the  law  of  dimin- 
ishing returns ;  which  means  that  for  the  same  result  we 
must  do  harder  work,  or  secure  a  better  equipment; 
which  in  turn  means  that  we  must  take  longer  time.  I 
see  no  reason  therefore  why  a  man  who  proposes  to 
enter  upon  his  life  work  by  way  of  an  education  should 
complain  of  the  time  required  in  preparation :  and  espe- 
cially in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  working  time  of  life 
has  been  so  greatly  extended.  If  society  calls  a  man 
later  to  his  tasks  it  allows  him  to  remain  longer  at  them. 
The  age  of  retirement  has  been  advanced.  What  the 
young  man  in  his  impatience  seems  to  be  losing  reap- 
pears in  the  unspent  force  of  later  years. 

But  the  exception  which  I  make  to  my  own  argu- 
ment is  this :  it  is  quite  possible  that  a  year  of  time  may 
be  saved  previous  to  the  high  school  course.  Studies 
may  be  carried  back,  as  you  have  carried  back  Latin,  or 
studies  may  be  taught  with  a  greater  economy  in  the 


SCHOOL   OF   THE   COMMUNITY       297 

earlier  stages.  Of  this  I  am  not  altogether  sure,  but  if 
it  be  possible,  I  see  no  further  concession  which  need  be 
made  on  the  score  of  time.  And  in  any  event,  there 
seems  to  me  to  be  no  sufficient  reason  for  the  present 
complaint.  We  have  made  no  gain  for  education  or  for 
those  things  for  which  education  stands,  if  we  have  sim- 
ply advanced  the  high  school  at  the  cost  of  any  part  of 
the  higher  education. 

But  I  have  had  quite  enough  to  say  of  the  high  school 
in  its  relation  to  other  parts  of  the  educational  system. 
I  have  spoken  of  it  as  the  school  of  the  community.  I 
return  to  that  conception,  to  set  forth  before  I  close 
some  of  those  values  which  belong  to  it  in  this  regard. 

The  high  school  is  the  educational  goal  of  the  ordi- 
nary municipality.  Beyond  that  the  local  passes  over 
into  the  general.  But  within  these  limitations,  as  the 
school  of  the  community,  in  what  goodly  company  it  is 
placed.  Its  allies  and  fellow  workers  are  the  library, 
the  museum,  the  club  for  improvement  or  recreation, 
the  church,  the  government,  the  home.  Here,  on  the 
upper  range,  is  the  great  social  organism  moving  in 
ceaseless  activity,  while  below,  the  great  material  organ- 
ism, gathering  up  all  the  daily  tasks  of  the  community, 
moves  on  in  steady  and  supporting  power.  This  is  the 
marvel  of  our  modern  civilization.  And  the  more  we 
study  it  the  more  we  see  that  the  vitalizing  and  unifying 
force  is  the  public  school. 

But  there  are  two  special  values  upon  which  I  must 
at  least  touch,  as  showing  the  peculiar  service  which  the 
high  school  renders  to  the  community. 

It  is  a  direct  stimulus.  The  life  which  it  sends  back 
day  by  day  into  the  home  is  a  fertilizing  and  fructifying 
life.    The  home  grows  with  the  advancing  boy  or  girl. 


298  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

We  are  none  of  us  above  this  influence.  It  puts  us  into 
contact  with  ideas,  which  if  not  altogether  new,  have  the 
freshness  of  a  new  setting,  and  the  force  of  a  new  ambi- 
tion or  purpose.  The  growing  mind  is  the  best  stim- 
ulus there  is  in  a  community.  In  spite  of  its  crudities, 
and  conceits,  and  distractions,  it  is  the  most  quickening 
and  gladdening  force  which  finds  its  way  into  our 
homes. 

And  beyond  the  stimulus  which  the  high  school 
carries  over  into  the  daily  life  of  the  community,  I  put 
its  power  to  give  that  educational  impulse  which  will 
outlast  its  own  training.  Nothing  is  more  pathetic  in 
the  working  of  our  educational  system  than  the  sight  of 
so  much  arrested  education,  pupils  dropping  out  at 
every  stage  in  the  course.  When  does  the  educational 
impulse  take  possession,  and  come  in  to  stay?  With 
some  early,  with  others  late,  with  some  not  at  all.  But 
it  is  fair  to  say  that  the  course  which  reaches  through  the 
high  school  is  long  enough  to  settle  the  question.  By 
that  time  the  mind  is  well  open  to  the  world  of  nature,  or 
of  men,  or  of  books.  Some  access  must  have  been 
gained  into  the  great  outer  or  equally  great  inner  world, 
into  which  one  may  pass  and  in  which  he  may  after- 
ward make  his  home.  I  reckon  among  the  most  refined 
and  cultivated  minds  within  my  knowledge,  many  who 
have  never  passed  in  technical  training  beyond  the  sec- 
ondary school.  But  the  educational  impulse  has  gone 
on.  It  has  taught  them  how  to  read,  to  study,  to  think, 
to  speak,  to  act.  Travel  has  been  to  them  more  than  a 
pastime,  music  and  art  more  than  recreation,  and  work 
more  than  drudgery.  There  is  a  deeper  fellowship  than 
that  which  bears  an  academic  name.  It  is  that  kinship 
of  mind  which  cherishes  in  common  the  divine  impulse 


SCHOOL  OF  THE   COMMUNITY       299 

to  think  and  to  feel  in  the  spirit  of  the  intellectual 
life. 

It  is  therefore  with  sincerity  and  in  honor  that  I  offer 
you  my  congratulations  upon  the  completion  and  dedi- 
cation of  this  building  for  the  uses  of  the  Newton  High 
School.  The  school  fulfills  its  two-fold  function,  as  I 
have  tried  to  show  you,  as  the  advanced  school  of  the 
community,  and  as  a  constant  and  growing  factor  in  the 
higher  education.  Through  this  school  you  come  as  a 
community  into  the  closest  possible  social  unity,  and 
also  into  vital  relations  with  the  educational  forces  of 
the  land.  I  congratulate  you  upon  the  home  which  you 
have  made  for  the  school,  but  more,  I  think,  upon  the 
fact  that  the  school  has  earned  it  and  is  worthy  of  it.  I 
read  in  this  building,  in  its  waUs,  in  its  equipment,  in  its 
adornment,  your  tribute,  as  citizens,  to  the  recognized 
authority  and  repute  of  the  school  of  this  community. 


XXI 

THE   PUBLIC  LIBRARY 

Address  at  the  Dedication  of  the  Gale  Public  Library,  Laconia, 

N.  H.,  June  9,  1893 

"We  go  to  our  shelves,"  Pascal  says,  "to  take  down 
a  book  expecting  to  find  an  author,  and  lo,  to  our  joy 
we  find  a  man."  This  is  the  everlasting  surprise  and 
joy  of  the  book.  We  are  slow  to  believe  that  books  are 
human.  But  books  are  human,  some  of  them  as  human 
as  any  men  we  ever  know — "books"  as  Emerson  says 
"which  take  rank  in  our  lives  with  parents  and  lovers 
and  passionate  experiences."  A  boy  may  forget  his 
early  teachers.  No  boy  forgets  his  first  books,  no  boy, 
at  least  of  my  generation,  has  forgotten  his  Arabian 
Nights,  his  Robinson  Crusoe,  his  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
his  Plutarch.  I  wish  I  knew  their  modern  equivalents, 
or  in  fact  whether  or  not  there  are  any.  And  as  for 
those  of  us  grown  to  the  stature  of  men,  in  the  midst 
of  what  we  call  the  realities  of  hfe,  we  know  how  com- 
pletely we  surrender  ourselves  on  occasion  to  the  reali- 
ties of  fiction.  Some  years  ago  I  crossed  the  Atlantic 
in  company  with  a  well  known  scholar,  who  was  withal 
a  charming  friend,  and,  as  I  should  add  in  the  circum- 
stances, a  good  sailor.  Day  after  day  he  grew  more 
absorbed,  less  and  less  companionable.  His  mind  was 
not  in  his  conversation.  On  the  last  day  of  the  voyage 
the  book  came  to  light  which  told  the  secret  of  his 
behavior.  He  had  been  carrying  on  his  heart  the  sor- 
rows of  the  Princess  of  Thule. 


THE    PUBLIC   LIBRARY  301 

I  have  had  this  much  to  say  at  the  beginning  about 
the  human  element  in  books,  because,  as  I  pass  from  the 
book  to  the  library,  I  want  to  carry  over  with  me  as 
much  as  I  can  truthfully  carry  of  this  essential  idea. 
It  cannot  be  said  with  truth  that  a  book  enters  a  library 
through  the  single  test  of  its  humanity.  A  hbrary  must 
shelter  a  good  deal  which  is  not,  in  any  profound  and 
vital  sense,  literature.  But  it  is  after  all  the  same  subtle 
essence  which  makes  the  rare  book  which  must  pervade 
the  library.  It  must  be,  I  believe  that  it  is,  the  atmos- 
phere of  truth,  of  reality,  of  helpfulness,  of  friendship, 
of  inspiration,  which  we  breathe  as  we  enter  the  modern 
library. 

Let  me  take  up  the  idea,  the  conception  of  the  Public 
Library,  and  try  to  translate  it  into  the  terms  of  invi- 
tation and  appeal  which  it  is  beginning  to  make  to  the 
modern  mind.  My  time  is  too  short  to  speak  of  libraries 
in  their  scholastic  uses.  I  speak  simply  of  the  public 
library  as  it  adjusts  itself  to  some  of  our  mental  needs, 
and  as  it  helps  to  control  some  of  the  wayward  ten- 
dencies of  our  ambitions  and  tastes.  The  library  is  en- 
tering vitally  into  the  process  of  education,  and  it  is 
offering  itself  generously  for  the  higher  uses  of  all  of  our 
better  communities.  We  cannot  think  of  the  library  in 
its  educational  uses  without  thinking  at  once  of  the  lab- 
oratory :  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  at  a  very  essential 
point  the  comparison  is  to  the  advantage  of  the  labora- 
tory. The  laboratory  has  been  without  doubt  the  great 
stimulating  and  awakening  force  in  modern  education. 
It  has  led  the  way  into  nature,  as  the  library  has  not  yet 
led  the  way  into  literature  or  into  life.  And  in  this  ac- 
tivity it  has  touched  the  sources  of  moral  action.  It  has 
created  a  mental  enthusiasm  which  has  overcome  lower 


302  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

excitements,  and  it  has  steadied  the  intellectual  purpose 
toward  patient  and  enduring  work.  It  has  carried  the 
mind  on  from  the  simple  verification  of  the  laws  of 
nature,  on  to  the  repetition  of  its  processes  and  moth- 
ods,  on  to  the  discovery  of  new  and  subtle  agencies  and 
forces.  The  fascination  of  science  has  relieved  the 
tediousness  of  search  and  the  drudgery  of  detail.  As 
Longfellow  sang  of  Nature,  as  the  "nurse"  of  Agas- 
siz — 

"And  whenever  the  way  seemed  long 
Or  his  heart  began  to  fail. 

She  would  sing  a  more  wonderful  song 
Or  tell  a  more  wonderful  tale." 

I  do  not  know  that  we  can  claim  that  the  modern 
hbrary  has  yet  wrought  for  literature  what  the  labora- 
tory has  wrought  for  science.  But  within  narrower 
limits  it  has  produced  a  like  result.  It  has,  for  exam- 
ple, revolutionized  the  study  of  history.  It  has  changed 
its  classification  as  a  subject  of  modern  training.  By 
subject  matter  history  belongs  within  the  old  discipline 
and  culture;  but  the  change  in  the  method  of  its  study 
has  transferred  it  to  the  new  education.  We  classify 
history  today  with  the  sciences,  not  with  the  classics, 
because  we  study  history  as  we  study  science.  We  are 
learning  to  verify,  to  compare,  to  investigate,  to  repro- 
duce, and  in  so  doing  we  are  creating  a  new  habit  of 
mind,  of  which  the  characteristics  are  accuracy  of 
method,  breadth  and  fairness  of  judgment,  and  the  love 
of  truth.  I  cannot  overestimate  the  moral  effect  of  the 
kind  of  training  which  has  been  made  possible  through 
the  educational  use  of  the  modern  library.  The  school 
which  employs  this  training  can  never  produce  the  par- 


THE    PUBLIC   LIBRARY  303 

tisan  or  the  bigot.  The  natural  product  of  the  method 
is  the  sane,  generous,  but  certain  and  positive  thinker, 
and  leader. 

Nor  must  we  fail  to  note  an  incidental  value  of  the 
modern  library.  Education  is  obliged  to  lay  stress  at 
times  upon  secondary  qualities  simply  to  meet  the 
demands  of  society.  Such  a  quality  in  urgent  demand 
today  is  facility.  The  world  cannot  wait  for  the  slow, 
unready,  or  unpracticed  man.  A  man  among  men  must 
have  facility,  if  he  would  do  his  full  work,  or  gain  his 
full  influence  among  them.  But  the  risk  here,  as  you 
see,  is  almost  as  great  as  the  demand.  The  tendency  is 
toward  mere  alertness,  nimbleness  of  action,  the  quick 
seizing  of  opportunity.  Modern  education  is  making 
use  of  the  library  to  correct  this  tendency.  The  library 
is  the  chief  means  through  which  it  seeks  to  create  the 
man  "full  and  ready,"  ready  because  full.  It  says  to 
young  men  in  their  impatience  to  be  at  work — "You 
must  have  resources  if  you  would  have  facility.  The 
real  question  is  not  what  you  are  doing  at  thirty  but 
what  you  can  be  at  fifty." 

I  cannot  put  too  much  emphasis  upon  the  new  delay- 
ing and  hindering  forces  in  modern  education.  Going 
through  college  means  today  going  through  the  library 
and  through  the  laboratory.  Of  course  the  great 
teacher  or  master  is  now  as  always  the  supreme  factor 
in  education,  but  the  great  teacher  never  shows  his 
greatness  more  clearly  than  through  his  power  to  under- 
stand and  to  use  the  sufficient  means  to  reach  the  suffi- 
cient end.  If  this  were  a  school  occasion  I  should  like 
to  dwell  upon  the  purely  educational  uses  of  the  modern 
library.  The  library  is  a  very  essential  part  of  the  cur- 
riculum of  liberal  study.    It  is  a  workshop,  dedicated  in 


304  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

every  part  to  honorable  uses,  a  place  where  every  stu- 
dent ought  to  know  that  he  is  at  home.  This  free  and 
happy  use  of  the  library  is  the  mark  of  the  transition 
from  old  methods  of  education  to  the  new.  I  asked  an 
Eton  boy  some  years  ago  where  the  hbrary  was.  "Upon 
my  word,"  he  said  after  a  moment's  thought,  "I  don't 
know." 

But  I  am  quite  as  much  concerned  with  certain  later 
influences  of  the  modern  library  as  I  am  with  its  purely 
educational  uses.  When  it  has  done  its  work  in  the 
making  of  our  mental  habits  and  in  the  furnishing  of 
our  minds,  we  do  not  part  company  with  the  idea.  It 
follows  us  into  all  our  pursuits  as  an  invitation  or  as  a 
protest.  When  we  cease  to  be  students,  and  have  not 
become  scholars,  we  need  most  of  all  to  cherish  the  idea 
for  which  the  library  stands  in  our  modern  civihzation. 

I  think  that  you  will  agree  with  me  when  I  say  that 
the  dominant  ambition  of  our  time  is  the  lust  of  posses- 
sion. Not  since  the  days  of  conquest  has  the  passion 
been  so  urgent  or  so  nearly  universal.  Everybody 
thinks  of  possession  in  large  terms,  whether  it  be  in 
respect  to  his  own  affairs,  or  to  corporate  interests,  or 
to  national  expansion.  We  are  all  smitten  with  what 
Mr.  Harmsworth  of  the  London  press  told  us  recently 
was  the  disease  of  our  newspapers,  the  disease  of  size. 
Our  ambitions  and  desires  run  to  bulk.  It  is  the  same 
thing  everywhere,  whether  you  make  the  reckoning  in 
dollars,  or  in  numbers,  or  in  land,  or  in  power. 

It  is  quite  evident  that  we  cannot  suppress  the  desire 
for  possession.  No  one  thinks  of  a  possible  return  to 
medievalism.  The  finer  modernism  does  not  seek  for 
spiritual  mastery  through  renunciation.  It  seeks  rather 
to  temper  desire  with  insight  and  discrimination,  to  put 


THE    PUBLIC   LIBRARY  305 

quality  before  quantity,  to  prevent  satiety  through  sat- 
isfaction. I  believe  that  the  great  task  before  modern 
Christianity,  before  modern  education,  before  modern 
politics,  is  the  training  of  desires.  If  we  trust  to  the 
popular  taste  to  tell  us  what  we  want,  we  have  no  option, 
if  we  wish  to  excel,  except  to  want  more  of  the  same 
thing  which  others  want.  There  is  no  longer  any  dif- 
ference between  men  except  the  difference  of  degree. 
But  the  eternal  distinction  between  one  man  and 
another  lies  in  the  grade  of  their  desires.  If  their  desires 
are  the  same  they  are  essentially  the  same.  The  man 
who  wants  the  better  thing,  who  wants  it  enough  to 
strive  for  it,  is  the  better  man.  How  shall  we  get  this 
better  man  ?  Not  in  any  one  way  or  by  any  one  method, 
but  much  can  be  done  by  trying  to  satisfy  the  desire  for 
possession  through  the  possession  of  things  at  once 
noble,  attractive,  and  tangible.  The  library  makes  its 
appeal  directly  to  the  sense  of  ownership.  It  stands 
outside  the  values  of  the  street,  but  it  has  its  entirely  ap- 
preciable value.  The  library  is  infinitely  more  than  a 
chest  of  tools,  even  for  the  most  skilled  intellectual 
workman.  Very  few  educated  men  will  ever  use  a  li- 
brary in  this  way.  I  have  asked  from  time  to  time  of 
those  qualified  to  judge,  what  proportion  of  men  in  our 
colleges  were  there  under  the  impulse  and  for  the  ends 
of  pure  scholarship.  The  invariable  answer  has  been 
from  five  to  ten  per  cent.  But  within  the  vast  remainder 
who  are  not  scholars  by  first  intention  there  may  be, 
there  is,  a  very  genuine  appreciation  of  high  culture. 
The  capacity  is  there  and  the  taste  has  been  measurably 
developed.  I  know  of  no  reason  why  a  good  lawyer,  or 
engineer,  or  banker  should  not  find  satisfaction  in  his 
library,  his  library,  I  say,  which  he  has  bought  book 

20 


306  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

by  book,  upon  which  he  has  expended  personal  judg- 
ment, which  he  owns  from  the  inside.  I  know  of  no 
reason  why  he  should  not  take  a  certain  satisfaction,  and 
find  a  certain  advantage,  above  that  of  the  scholar  who 
uses  his  librarj^  to  win  his  living  or  to  earn  a  name. 
Yes,  books  are  more  than  tools.  Willingly  as  the  great 
discoverers  and  interpreters  in  the  intellectual  world 
lend  themselves  and  their  work  to  our  uses,  they  give 
themselves  more  joyfully  to  our  companionship.  They 
allow  themselves  to  become  ours  by  the  inalienable 
rights  of  ownership.  I  believe  in  the  saving  value  which 
lies  in  the  possession  of  books.  The  public  library  which 
stands  open  for  consultation,  and  the  public  library 
which  sends  out  its  volumes  broadcast  over  the  commun- 
ity, have  their  evident  values.  I  set  forth  the  moral 
value  of  the  owned  library,  the  library  into  which  a  man 
puts  not  only  his  money  but  himself,  which  is  the  reflec- 
tion of  his  desires  and  ambitions,  which  shows  the  marks 
of  familiar  intercourse,  which  is  an  evident  investment 
in  non  productive  but  imperishable  wealth.  I  deprecate 
the  decline  of  the  private  library.  There  is  no  substi- 
tute for  it.  The  hour  in  the  club  has  its  own  relief  and 
profit,  but  it  has  no  result  so  unique  and  lasting  as  the 
hour  in  the  library.  Modern  life  means  men,  men,  men, 
all  the  day  long.  When  the  day  is  done,  it  is  the  same 
routine  set  to  a  different  movement.  The  book,  which 
is  really  more  human  than  the  men  we  meet,  which  does 
not  give  us  the  answer  of  the  street,  which  is  not  the  echo 
of  our  thought,  the  book  which  interprets  us,  challenges 
our  spirits,  commands  our  consciences,  the  book  which 
broadens  our  judgments  and  enlarges  our  mental  hori- 
zon, the  book  which  reaches  our  hearts  and  makes  a  man 
once  more  a  child — that  is  the  enlivening,  chastening, 


THE    PUBLIC   LIBRARY  307 

deepening  power  which  ought  to  have  free  access  to  our 
homes,  and  become  a  part  of  our  personal  holdings. 

But  I  should  altogether  miss  the  most  direct,  though 
limited  function  of  the  modern  library,  if  I  did  not  note 
its  appeal  to  the  creative  spirit.  It  is  a  reminder  to  us 
all  of  the  place  of  authorship  in  the  national  life.  Here 
and  there  it  is  more,  it  is  a  distinct  invitation  and  appeal. 
Happy  the  man  who  hears  the  invitation  and  is  able  to 
accept  it,  happy  in  his  own  lot,  happy  in  the  joy  he 
gives  his  fellows. 

Nothing  is  on  the  whole  so  gratifying  or  inspiriting 
in  the  intellectual  life  of  this  country  as  the  return  to 
literature  as  a  profession.  No  men  amongst  us  are 
quite  so  welcome,  there  are  none  for  whom  we  have  been 
waiting  with  such  eagerness,  as  the  men  of  the  incoming 
generation  who  are  revealing  to  us  our  undeveloped 
wealth  in  literary  resources,  who  are  interpreting  to  us 
types  of  character  which  we  have  seen  but  have  not 
known,  who  are  showing  us  ideals  which  thrive  in  the 
bare  and  hard  reahties  of  our  social  life  and  who  are 
making  us  believe  in  them,  who  are  touching  us  again 
with  pathos  and  humor,  and  who  are  rekindling  on  our 
dull  hearths  the  fires  of  enthusiasm  and  faith.  It  would 
be  vain  to  say  that  we  have  been  satisfied  with  the  mate- 
rial advance  in  which  we  have  gloried.  We  have  not 
really  believed  the  comfortable  words  of  our  prophets, 
who  have  told  us  that  the  genius  which  declared  itself 
in  organization  and  enterprise  could,  if  it  had  a  mind 
to,  turn  to  literature.  Neither  have  we  been  altogether 
satisfied  with  our  wonderful  educational  advance,  more 
marked  even  than  our  industrial  advance.  Education  is 
not  literature.  Text  books  are  not  poems.  The  school 
room  is  not  the  library.    It  is  good  to  see  the  nation  at 


308  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

school.  It  is  good  to  see  the  scholar  rising  to  distinction 
amongst  us.  But  in  all  this  revival  of  education,  in  all 
this  revival  of  learning,  we  are  not  content,  we  shall 
not  be  content,  till  we  see  and  feel  once  more,  and  in  full 
measure,  the  revival  of  literature. 

But  the  place  of  a  library  in  a  community  cannot  be 
defined  by  its  special  uses.  Far  beyond  any  results 
which  can  be  formulated  lies  that  intangible  but  potent 
effect  upon  a  community  which  the  years  are  sure  to 
reveal.  Nothing  adds  more  to  the  self  respect  of  a 
town  or  city  than  a  great  library.  Strangers  as  they 
visit  Laconia  will  take  away  with  them  their  impressions 
of  your  city  shaped  in  no  little  degree  by  the  sight  of 
this  new  and  attractive  structure.  You  will  refer  to  it 
with  an  honorable  pride.  Better  than  all  this,  you  will 
grow  into  it,  and  up  to  it.  A  public  library  levels  up. 
It  changes  in  time  the  talk  of  people.  It  creates  an 
atmosphere.  Its  effect  is  more  subtle,  but  more  positive 
and  more  stimulating,  than  travel.  Travel  stores  the 
mind  with  agreeable  memories.  Reading  quickens  the 
mind  to  thought.  A  well  travelled  man  can  tell  others 
what  he  has  seen.  A  well  read  man  can  talk  over  the 
same  books  with  his  neighbor,  and  get  the  play  of  mind 
which  comes  out  of  the  give  and  take  of  conversation. 

The  incoming  of  good  companionable  books  year 
after  j^ear  is  like  the  incoming  of  a  succession  of  good 
families.  You  come  to  know  them  by  name,  by  personal 
qualities,  by  influence;  for,  as  I  said  at  the  beginning, 
books  are  intensely  human.  I  do  not  know  of  anything 
which  can  come  into  our  New  England  towns  to  repair 
the  waste  of  the  old  family  life  of  these  towns  more 
effectively  than  a  good  public  library.  I  do  not  know 
of  anything  which  can  assimilate  the  new  with  the  old, 


THE    PUBLIC   LIBRARY  309 

and  bring  our  population  of  differing  speech  and  cus- 
toms into  more  homogeneous  unity  than  a  good  pubhc 
hbrary.  For  we  must  remember  that  many  of  those 
who  are  of  foreign  birth  represent  peoples  which  hold 
a  great  place  in  literature.  Nor  must  we  overlook  the 
fact  that  among  those  who  come  to  us  from  other  lands 
may  be  some  true  interpreters  of  the  greater  writers  of 
their  races.  It  is  no  infrequent  thing  to  find  in  the 
immigrations  which  are  filling  our  western  states  those 
who  bring  with  them,  even  in  their  comparative  poverty, 
the  love  of  literature  and  the  love  of  art  to  which  we  can 
hardly  furnish  an  equal.  I  should  not  wish  to  be  put  to 
the  test  beside  many  an  immigrant  to  whom  Dante 
speaks  in  the  mother  tongue,  or  Goethe,  or  who  carries 
Robert  Burns  or  Tom  Moore  in  his  heart. 

I  congratulate  you  that  in  the  midst  of  your  indus- 
tries, beside  your  churches  and  schools,  within  sight  of 
the  great  tide  of  travel  which  flows  through  your  city, 
you  have  been  endowed  with  this  building  which  is  to 
declare  its  purpose  to  aU  who  enter  your  gates.  I  con- 
gratulate you  that  the  gift  is  from  within  and  not  from 
without.  I  congratulate  you  upon  the  distinction  that 
your  library  bears  a  local  name.  I  congratulate  you 
upon  those  traditions  of  your  ancient  town  which  this 
building  is  to  perpetuate  in  the  name  of  its  donor,  and 
no  less  upon  the  hopes  and  promises  of  your  new  city 
which  it  will  help  you  to  realize  and  accomplish. 


XXII 

MODERN   EDUCATION   CAPABLE   OF 

IDEALISM 

Address  at  the  Inauguration  of  President  King  at  Oberlin,  Ohio, 

May  14,  1903 

I  assume  that  I  have  your  assent  to  these  two  propo- 
sitions: first,  it  is  the  business  of  education  to  accept, 
when  it  may  not  create,  the  material  of  knowledge ;  sec- 
ond, it  is  the  business  of  the  higher  education  to  idealize 
whatever  material  of  knowledge  it  accepts. 

No  greater  calamity,  it  seems  to  me,  can  befall  an 
age,  apart  from  a  moral  lapse,  than  to  have  its  intellec- 
tual training  detached  from  the  mind  of  the  age. 
Wherever  men  are  thinking  most  vigorously,  there 
those  who  are  to  follow  after  must  be  trained  to  think, 
otherwise  there  will  be  in  due  time  intellectual  revolt 
with  its  consequent  delays  and  wastes. 

But  more  knowledge,  whether  it  be  old  or  new,  is  not 
the  end  of  education,  but  rather  knowledge  penetrated 
by  insight  and  alive  with  motive.  A  fact  is  something 
which  has  been  done,  something  which  has  found  a  place 
in  the  world  of  reahty.  There  may  be  that  in  the  crea- 
tion of  a  fact  which  declares  its  whole  power.  There 
are  deeds  from  which  nothing  can  be  taken,  and  to  which 
nothing  can  be  added.  But  most  facts,  especially  those 
which  have  not  been  accomplished  by  the  hand  of  man, 
await  questioning.  When  an  answer  comes  back  we 
speak  of  discovery.  When  the  full  answer  comes  back 
we  announce  a  theory,  a  principle,  a  law.    The  under- 


IDEALISM   IN   EDUCATION  311 

standing  of  facts,  whether  personal  or  impersonal,  of 
man's  doing,  that  is,  or  of  nature's  doing,  the  relating 
of  facts  to  one  another,  the  discovery  of  the  moral  incen- 
tive in  facts,  make  up  in  part  the  idealizing  process 
which  belongs  to  the  higher  education. 

Modern  education  differs  from  the  education  which 
has  come  to  us  by  long  inheritance  in  the  vast 
amount  of  subject-matter  which  it  has  put  into  our 
hands,  awaiting  the  ideahzing  process.  The  new  sub- 
ject-matter is  in  large  degree  the  raw  material  of  knowl- 
edge, not  having  passed  through  the  alchemy  of  time, 
devoid  of  sentiment,  and  lacking  in  those  associations 
which  make  up  the  moral  increment  of  knowledge.  It 
represents  literatures  which  have  not  reached  the  final 
form,  sciences  which  run  straight  to  application  rather 
than  to  philosophical  conclusion,  and  theories  of  society 
and  government  which  are  too  serious  and  urgent  to  be 
held  in  academic  discussion.  Manifestly  the  chief  task 
of  the  schools  has  thus  far  been  that  of  readjustment, 
first  making  a  sufficient  place  for  the  new  subject 
matter,  and  then  properly  relating  it  to  the  old. 

If  you  will  review  the  educational  work  of  the  dec- 
ades just  passed,  you  will  see  how  definitely,  how  com- 
pletely I  may  say,  adjustment  has  been  our  business. 
The  process  has  been  carried  on  partly  in  strife  and 
contention,  partly  by  inquiry,  and  partly  through  that 
understanding  which  comes  only  from  the  actual  han- 
dling of  unfamiliar  knowledge.  For  so  large  an  under- 
taking the  process  has  been  rapid.  Let  me  remind  you 
that  it  was  on  the  first  of  October,  1859,  that  Mr. 
Darwin  sent  out  his  abstract,  as  he  termed  it,  on  the 
"Origin  of  Species,"  accompanying  the  volume  with  the 
modest  prophecy  that  "when  the  views  entertained  in 


312  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

this  volume,  or  when  analogous  views  are  generally- 
admitted,  we  can  dimly  foresee  that  there  will  be  a  con- 
siderable revolution  in  natural  history." 

The  process  of  adjustment  is  nearly  over,  so  nearly 
over  that  we  may  now,  I  think,  address  ourselves  to  a 
severer  but  nobler  task,  that  of  idealizing  our  new 
knowledge  and  the  methods  of  its  acquisition.  And 
the  essential  condition,  let  me  say,  of  undertaking  the 
task  is  that  we  approach  it  in  the  right  state  of  mind. 
The  traditional  mind  is  not  altogether  in  the  right  state. 
It  is  too  ready  to  draw  offhand  distinctions  between  cul- 
ture and  utility,  too  ready  to  ignore  the  ethical  possi- 
bility of  the  new  education.  What  we  need  just  now  in 
the  educational  world  more  than  anything  else  is  an 
ethical  revival  at  the  heart  of  education.  We  shall  not 
have  it  until  we  realize  more  clearly  the  need  of  it. 

If  we  should  make  a  careful  assessment  of  the  pres- 
ent moral  values  in  the  subject-matter  of  education,  we 
should  be  surprised,  I  think,  to  see  how  large  has  been 
the  diversion  or  decline  of  these  values.  I  refer,  of 
course,  to  subjects  and  to  the  mode  of  their  treatment. 
The  old  discipline,  which  held  the  Hebrew  literature 
with  its  elemental  righteousness,  so  much  of  science  as 
could  be  classified  under  natural  theology,  and  a  philos- 
ophy which  vexed  itself  with  the  problems  of  human 
destiny,  was  a  discipline  prosecuted  under  the  very  sanc- 
tion of  religion.  But  when  the  transfer  was  made  in 
literature  to  the  classics,  and  when  the  sciences  began  to 
be  applied,  and  when  the  end  of  philosophy  changed  in 
part  with  the  change  of  data,  the  subject-matter  of  the 
higher  education  ceased  to  be  rehgiously  ethical.  We 
have  been  singularly  unconscious  of  the  change. 
Under  changes  in  form  we  have  kept  the  same  senti- 


IDEALISM   IN   EDUCATION  313 

ment.  Culture  has  become  with  us  a  kind  of  morality. 
So  long  as  the  old  discipline  kept  its  associations  and  its 
methods  and  gave  us  consistent  results,  we  asked  few 
questions  about  the  moral  content  of  teaching,  and 
therefore  made  no  comparison  of  values.  In  fact  we 
have  silently  abandoned  the  idea  that  the  chief  ethical 
value  of  college  instruction  lies  in  the  curriculum.  The 
reservations  which  we  make  in  behalf  of  certain  dis- 
tinctly ethical  or  semi-religious  subjects,  are  too  few  to 
bear  the  weight  of  the  moral  obligation  which  the  higher 
education  ought  to  assume. 

Where  then  shall  we  look  for  the  recovery  and 
advancement  of  education  to  its  highest  ethical  power? 
Chiefly,  I  believe,  to  our  capacity  for  carrying  on  the 
idealizing  process  through  which  we  accustom  ourselves 
to  think  reverently  of  all  knowledge,  to  insist  upon  all 
intellectual  work  as  a  moral  discipline,  and  to  hold  all 
intellectual  attainments  and  achievements  as  tributary 
to  the  social  good. 

I  believe  that  the  finest,  partly  because  it  is  the  really 
distinctive  product  of  academic  life,  is  the  knowing 
mind.  The  moral  danger  from  it  is  inappreciable. 
Pride,  conceit,  arrogance,  if  they  ever  attend  knowl- 
edge, are  intruders  and  transients.  They  are  not  com- 
panions or  guests.  Knowledge  leads  to  awe,  and  awe  to 
faith,  or  to  that  kind  of  doubt  which  is  as  humble  as 
faith.  It  is  the  unknowing  mind  with  its  triviality,  its 
uncertainties,  its  double  vision,  from  which  we  have  most 
to  fear.  And  if  we  get  the  knowing  in  place  of  the 
unknowing  mind,  it  is  not  of  so  much  account  how  we 
get  it,  as  that  we  get  it.  For  this  reason  I  deprecate 
any  academic  discrimination  against  useful  knowledge. 
If  utility  can  create  the  knowing  mind,  we  want  its  aid. 


314  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

I  would  accept  at  any  time  the  moral  result  of  serious 
thinking  on  the  inferior  subject  in  place  of  less  serious 
thinking  upon  the  greater  subject. 

The  mental  gymnastics  of  the  old  dialectic  had  no 
ethical  value.  The  subject-matter  of  discourse  might 
be  God  himself,  but  that  did  not  necessarily  make  the 
discourse  religious  or  moral.  It  was  the  play  of  the 
mind,  not  its  serious  business.  No  one,  I  am  sure,  can 
overlook  the  immense  moral  gain  which  has  taken  place 
through  the  transfer  of  thought  in  so  large  degree  from 
speculation  to  sober  inquiry.  Very  much  of  the  change 
is  due  of  course  to  the  incoming  of  such  a  vast  amount 
of  new  subject-matter  within  reach  of  the  human  mind. 
It  was  natural  that  men  should  now  begin  to  search 
where  before  they  had  tried  to  conjecture,  and  that  they 
should  attempt  to  prove  or  disprove  what  before  they 
had  affirmed.  The  change  of  method  soon  became,  as  I 
have  said,  morally  significant.  After  the  first  excite- 
ments and  confusions  attendant  upon  the  change  the 
idealizing  process  set  in.  A  type  of  mind  was  developed 
which  instinctively  put  first  the  love  of  truth. 

Next  to  the  reverence  for  knowledge,  which  is  akin 
to  the  love  of  truth,  I  should  insist,  in  our  idealizing 
process,  upon  the  morality  of  that  more  active  discipline 
which  characterizes  modern  education.  The  old  educa- 
tion, as  we  well  know,  was  based  morally  on  the  will 
trained  to  obedience.  It  was  not  a  passive  training.  It 
is  never  passive  to  obey.  But  it  was  not  an  active  disci- 
pline in  the  sense  in  which  modern  training  is  carried 
on.  And,  in  so  far  as  the  material  of  training  lay  in  the 
past,  the  mind  was  set  upon  interpretation  more  than 
upon  creative  or  productive  work.  The  receptive  fac- 
ulties were  by  no  means  exclusively  developed,  for  there 


IDEALISM   IN   EDUCATION  315 

was  always  a  fine  appeal  to  the  imagination  and  to  the 
sensibilities,  but  the  prescription  of  subjects  put  educa- 
tion largely  into  the  hands  of  the  master. 

Modern  education  lays  the  stress  upon  the  discovery 
of  the  individual  to  himself,  preferably  by  himself.    It 
does  not  remove  the  period  of  intellectual  compulsion, 
but  it  reduces  that  period  to  the  limits  of  early  training. 
It  addresses  itself  necessarily  to  the  will,  but  it  changes 
the  appeal  as  soon  as  practicable  from  obedience  to 
choice.    Its  first  effort  is  to  awaken,  its  second  and  con- 
stant effort  to  create  the  sense  of  responsibiUty.    Edu- 
cation is  made  co-operative.    It  is  made  as  quickly  as 
possible  the  consenting,  choosing  action  of  the  mind. 
Modern  education  rests  upon  the  individuality  of  the 
individual,  not  upon  his  necessary  likeness  to  others.    It 
assumes  that  the  mind  of  each  individual  if  properly 
awakened,  and  left  free  to  act,  will  separate  itself  from 
other  minds  for  the  satisfaction  of  its  own  desires,  and 
for  the  development  of  its  own  powers.    The  logical  out- 
come of  this  conception  is  not  the  compulsory  course 
of  study,  continued  beyond  the  necessary  elements  of 
knowledge  in  the  farther  interest  of  discipline  or  of  cul- 
ture, but  the  elective  course  of  study  in  the  interest  of 
self-development   and  personal  attainment  in  knowl- 
edge.   It  takes  the  risks  of  intellectual  freedom  for  the 
sake  of  the  greater  possibilities  of  intellectual  freedom. 
Now  the  ethical  quality  which  resides  in  freedom  is 
responsibility,  and  the  intellectual  expression  of  respon- 
sibiUty is  choice.     Will  the  one  thus  choosing  become 
morally  a  strong  man?    Not  necessarily.    It  is  not  safe 
to  argue  from  intellectual  obedience,  even  to  a  creed, 
that  the  further  result  will  be  complete  moral  character. 
You  may  have  the  immoral  scholar,  as  you  may  have  the 


316  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

immoral  believer.  But  the  morality  of  the  intellect  is 
not  the  least  among  the  guarantees  of  general  morality. 
And  the  intellect  trained  by  responsibihty  ought  to  be 
as  strong  morally  as  the  intellect  trained  by  obedience. 
There  is,  I  think,  a  certain  elevation  which  comes  to  one 
who  has  found  and  proven  himself,  which  can  hardly  be 
reached  in  any  other  way — a  kind  of  scorn  for  that  inca- 
pacity for  nobler  things  which  leads  one  to  do  the 
meaner  thing.  I  have  seen  college  men  on  their  way  to 
httleness  and  shame  so  often  recovered  and  saved  by 
the  intellectual  awakening  through  some  subject  of  per- 
sonal choice,  a  subject  without  any  moral  significance 
in  itself,  that  I  cannot  doubt  the  ethical  value  of  the 
method.  I  am  not  concerned  with  the  moral  supremacy 
of  either  method.  It  is  quite  too  early  to  determine  this 
point.  What  we  need  to  do  is  to  recognize  the  moral 
element  in  the  method,  which  for  other  ends,  we  have 
adopted.  We  can  make  modern  training  a  morality  if 
we  will.  The  elements  of  moral  power  are  present  and 
active.  The  full  recognition  of  them  is  a  great  means 
to  their  development. 

Beyond  the  reverence  for  knowledge  which  is  akin  to 
the  love  of  truth,  and  the  recognition  of  the  moral  power 
which  is  latent  in  an  active  intellectual  discipline,  I 
would  see  our  modern  education  permeated  with  the 
sense  of  the  social  obligation.  The  essential  nobility  of 
the  old  education  lay  in  the  open  fact  that  it  was  for 
somebody.  There  was  no  concealment  of  this  purpose. 
It  was  graven  on  all  the  foundations  of  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries,  and  on  many  of  those  laid  in 
the  nineteenth  century.  It  was  blazoned  on  their  seals. 
It  was  illustrated  in  the  life  of  devotion  which  charac- 
terized so  large  a  proportion  of  the  earlier  graduates. 


IDEALISM   IN   EDUCATION  317 

They  sought  the  most  direct  avenues  of  approach  to  the 
heart  of  humanity. 

There  can  be  no  other  kind  of  nobihty  worthy  of  the 
purpose  of  any  great  school  of  learning.  A  training 
which  lacks  these  motives,  or  which  fails  to  keep  this 
aim  in  full  view,  cannot  be  touched  with  ideality.  But 
modern  education  meets  the  difficulty  that  it  must  fit 
men  for  an  immensely  widening  application  of  the  prin- 
ciple. Under  the  old  education  the  great  services  were 
delegated.  Elect  souls  were  set  apart  for  high  and 
exceptional  duties.  It  was  the  age  of  the  prophet,  the 
missionary,  the  reformer,  and  the  occasional  man  of 
public  career.  Today  it  is  not  possible  for  one  educated 
man  to  find  a  place  where  he  can  be  free  from  the  social 
obligation.  It  has  become  the  task  of  modern  education 
to  train  the  average  man  for  duties  which  are  sufficiently 
imperative  and  exacting  for  the  exceptional  man.  The 
opportunity  of  the  more  devoted  calhngs  of  other  times 
is  matched  in  every  department  of  life.  The  decision  of 
a  great  judge,  the  example  of  a  great  employer,  the 
insight  of  a  great  teacher,  the  self-sacrifice  of  a  great 
investigator,  all  rank  among  the  powers  which  make 
for  righteousness.  The  "hard  sayings"  of  our  genera- 
tion which  those  only  who  can  hear  them  are  able  to 
receive,  are  concerned  with  integrity,  justice,  courage, 
charity  and  sacrifice.  Sacrifice,  I  say,  and  to  the  degree 
of  christian  consecration. 

The  highest  place  in  our  land,  if  to  position  be  added 
permanency,  is  a  seat  on  the  bench  of  the  Supreme 
Court.  When  a  man  puts  by  the  offer  of  this  position 
that  he  may  serve  an  alien  and  dependent  people  in  the 
interest  of  the  common  humanity,  I  rank  this  surrender 
to  duty  among  the  consecrated  examples  of  the  foreign 


318  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

missionary  service.  And  if  our  foreign  policy  as  a  na- 
tion shall  develop  a  like  spirit  among  those  who  aspire 
to,  or  who  accept  political  office,  we  shall  bring  back 
again  that  old  fundamental  unity  which  made  of  one 
spiritual  kin  the  servants  of  the  church  and  of  the  state. 
It  was  in  view  of  these  demands  that  I  said  a  little 
while  ago  that  the  greatest  present  need  in  the  educa- 
tional world  was  that  of  an  ethical  revival  at  the  heart 
of  education.  The  idealizing  process  of  which  I  have 
spoken  must  somehow  culminate  in  righteousness.  And 
if  it  be  asked  again,  Is  modern  education  capable  of 
such  idealism?  I  say,  yes,  provided  the  question  be  ac- 
cepted not  as  a  question,  but  as  a  challenge. 


XXIII 

NEW  IDEALS   BEFORE   THE  YOUTH  OF 

THE  COUNTRY 

Address  before  the  Hampton  County  Teachers'  Convention,  Spring- 
field, Mass. 

We  are  witnessing  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 
one  of  the  most  impressive  of  those  social  and  moral 
phenomena  which  from  time  to  time  arrest  our  atten- 
tion, namely,  a  change  in  ideals  in  the  midst  of  the  activ- 
ities of  our  generation.  It  is  like  the  change  of  front  in 
the  midst  of  battle.  The  ideals  which  were  most  influ- 
ential and  most  persuasive  among  the  men  who  have 
virtually  done  their  work  are  no  longer  influential  and 
persuasive  among  the  men  who  are  beginning  their 
work:  or  as  it  may  be  more  exactly  said,  the  former 
ideals  have  ceased  to  be  ideals.  They  exist,  but  not  as 
ideals.  They  have  hardened  into  conventional  forms  of 
activity.  But  no  generation  can  be  satisfied  with  itself, 
or  with  its  work,  without  ideals,  certainly  not  those  who 
are  entering  a  generation.  It  is  the  prerogative  of 
youth  to  see  visions;  and  no  generation  can  become  so 
conventionalized  and  commonplace  that  somebody  will 
not  exercise  the  right  and  thereby  incite  his  fellows. 

One  phase  of  this  change  in  ideals  has  been  brought 
out  sharply  by  so  sagacious  an  observer  as  the  editorial 
writer  in  "Life,"  under  date  of  October  4th  of  the  pres- 
ent year.     I  quote  his  words : 

"The  sentiment,  so  strong  in  the  generation  that 
began  to  vote  thirty  years  ago,  that  the  chief  end  of  a 


320  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

young  man  is  to  get  some  money,  seems  to  have  suffered 
some  abatement  of  strength  in  current  years.  It  is  a 
sentiment  to  the  clamor  of  which  no  reasoning  man  is 
altogether  deaf,  but  really  it  seems  not  to  be  so  gener- 
ally the  moving  sentiment  of  the  young  Americans  of 
today  as  of  the  generations  that  followed  the  Civil  War 
and  closed  out  the  nineteenth  century.  It  has  been  com- 
plained of  us  Americans  that  we  are  much  too  exclu- 
sively bent  on  material  acquisition,  and  that  our  whole 
apparatus  seemed  to  be  devoted  and  subordinated  to 
money-making.  These  new  young  men  have  room  for 
something  else  in  their  heads. 

"Not  only  is  the  extreme  of  selfish  materialism  disen- 
chanting as  they  see  it  and  read  about  it,  but  other  sorts 
of  endeavor  are  attractive  by  contrast.  Without  doubt. 
President  Roosevelt's  remarkable  public  career  has  had 
great  influence  on  the  generation  following  his  own." 

I  think  that  it  would  be  unjust  to  speak  of  the  past 
generation  as  simply  a  money  making  and  money  loving 
generation.  I  take  issue  with  the  term  often  used  to 
characterize  that  time — the  commercial  spirit.  That 
term  should  not  be,  it  should  not  be  assumed  to  be,  a 
term  of  reproach.  The  spirit  of  commerce  is  an  honor- 
able spirit,  the  spirit  of  far  reaching  enterprise,  the 
spirit  of  reciprocity.  The  spirit  which  we  mean  to  con- 
demn is  the  spirit  of  greed,  which  may  exist  anywhere. 
And  this,  as  I  have  just  said,  was  not  the  spirit  of  the 
past  generation.  Let  me  take  a  moment  to  bring  back 
the  spirit  which  characterized  that  generation  at  the 
beginning,  and  which  furnished  the  motive  power  for 
the  remarkable  material  results  which  followed.  The 
generation  which  fought  the  Civil  War  was  under  the 
constant  and  intense  action  of  high  moral  ideals.    The 


NEW  IDEALS  BEFORE  YOUTH         321 

discussions  upon  slavery,  which  led  up  to  the  War, 
greatly  aroused  the  young  men  of  the  country.  The 
debates  in  Congress  were  studied  in  the  schools  and  col- 
leges. Some  of  the  more  notable  speeches  like  those  of 
Seward,  and  Sumner,  and  later  of  Lincoln,  were  repro- 
duced in  part  in  declamation  and  debate.  When  the 
call  to  War  came,  the  latent  feeling  which  had  been 
gathering  for  so  many  years  suddenly  crystallized  into 
action.  Then  followed  the  years  of  struggle  and  sacri- 
fice in  which  every  home  in  the  country  bore  its  share. 

It  was  impossible,  in  the  nature  of  events,  that 
another  moral  crisis  of  equal  significance  should  follow 
immediately  upon  the  conclusion  of  the  Civil  War. 
Had  there  been  another  crisis,  the  moral  feeling  of  the 
nation  could  not  have  been  maintained  at  the  same  ten- 
sion. Fortunately  in  many  ways,  the  moral  crisis 
through  which  the  nation  had  passed,  creating  its  own 
ideals,  was  followed  by  a  period  of  startling  material 
development.  Almost  immediately  the  scientific  spirit 
took  possession  of  the  worn  and  burdened  minds  of  men 
as  a  reviving  force.  Men  in  this  country  began  in  the 
late  sixties  and  early  seventies  to  think  about  the  theory 
of  "Evolution,"  and  to  discuss  the  questions  which  it  in- 
volved. Meanwhile  discoveries  in  physical  science  were 
awakening  and  stimulating  public  attention.  The  coun- 
try itself  was  open  for  enterprises  of  greater  dimensions 
than  had  before  been  undertaken  or  proposed.  New 
portions  of  the  country  whose  values  had  been  unsus- 
pected were  exploited,  transcontinental  lines  of  railroad 
were  planned  and  undertaken,  inventions,  which  gave  a 
new  meaning  to  the  ordinary  industries,  came  in  rapid 
succession  before  the  public,  and  a  vast  army  of  immi- 
grants ready  to  match  with  their  hands  the  schemes  of 

21 


322  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

inventors  and  promoters,  poured  into  the  country  year 
bv  year.  The  whole  situation  during  the  decade  of  the 
seventies  was  a  challenge  to  the  young  men  of  that  dec- 
ade, to  do  pioneer  work  in  the  development  of  the  ma- 
terial resources  of  the  country.  They  undertook  their 
task  in  the  spirit  of  the  pioneer,  not  the  same  as  that  of 
the  reformer,  but  of  itself  a  very  high  spirit.  JNIoney 
making  was  not  the  first  impulse.  The  great  fortunes 
which  were  accumulated  at  that  time  were  not  made  in 
the  love  of  money,  but  in  the  joy  of  enterprise,  initiative, 
and  newly  awakened  power.  Many  fortunes  which 
were  won  were  lost,  and  the  losers  kept  at  their  task 
without  complaint.  It  was  good  for  men  to  be  at  work, 
and  nearly  all  men  of  any  capacity  felt  how  good  it  was. 
The  ideals  of  the  time  were  not  exactly  moral  ideals 
when  compared  with  those  of  the  previous  generation, 
but  they  were  ideals.  Life  in  the  thought  of  young  men 
of  that  day  was  neither  a  grievous  nor  a  sordid  thing. 
Their  ideals  held  them  to  free  and  generous,  and,  for  the 
most  part,  to  honorable  activity. 

I  give  this  interpretation  of  the  more  spiritual  forces 
which  were  at  work  at  the  beginning  of  the  period  of 
material  development,  because  I  believe  they  were  the 
sources  of  its  power.  I  repeat,  in  another  form,  what  I 
said  at  the  beginning,  that  no  generation  undertakes  a 
great  work  of  any  sort  except  under  the  power  of  some 
ideal.  Ideals  vary  greatly,  but  ideals  there  must  be,  if 
there  are  to  be  any  great  and  far  reaching  results.  The 
money  making  spirit  never  gave  rise  to  those  conditions 
out  of  which  great  fortunes  were  made.  The  springs 
then,  as  always,  were  among  the  hills.  But  out  of  this 
material  development  there  came  the  opportunity  for 
easier  and  more  remunerative  results.    Then  the  money 


NEW  IDEALS  BEFORE  YOUTH         323 

making  spirit  laid  hold  of  men  showing  its  influence  in 
definite  forms — first,  in  opening  the  way  to  social  and 
political  power  and,  secondly,  in  opening  the  way  to 
luxury.  Some  men  made  money  to  use  it  for  political 
or  other  organized  forms  of  power,  and  some  made 
money  that  they,  or  their  families,  might  spend  it.  The 
social  competition  which  began  with  the  money  making 
period  has  continued  up  to  the  present  time  with  more 
or  less  disastrous  results.  But  whether  the  result  of 
money  making,  detached  from  the  earlier  spirit  of  ad- 
venture and  enterprise  requiring  its  own  sacrifices,  has 
found  its  large  expression  in  great  fortunes,  or  in  politi- 
cal power,  or  in  social  preferment  with  its  accompany- 
ing luxury,  the  result  warrants  the  conclusion  of  the 
editorial  writer  in  "Life."  The  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter  as  shown  in  some  of  the  characteristic  represent- 
atives of  this  later  period  is  not  attractive  to  young  men. 
To  quote  again  from  the  article  to  which  I  have  re- 
ferred : 

"It  is  not  surprising  that  hkely  young  men,  when 
they  contemplate  such  shapes  as  now  stand  for  the  big- 
gest commercial  success  and  observe  the  general  con- 
tempt that  many  of  them  inspire,  and  inquire  into  the 
reasons  for  that  contempt,  and  find  them  pretty  sound, 
should  exclaim :  'Gracious  heavens!  We  don't  want  to 
be  things  like  these !'  " 

I  do  not  say  that  the  spirit  of  initiative  or  of  enter- 
prise, or  of  high  purpose,  is  no  longer  to  be  found  in  the 
business  world;  far  from  it.  There  are  men  who  illus- 
trate that  spirit  today  as  clearly  as  any  of  their  prede- 
cessors. But  it  is  evident  that,  to  the  minds  of  many 
young  men,  the  ideals  which  gave  us  our  present  pros- 
perity are  not  now  so  far  controlhng  it  as  to  make  the 


324  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

results  of  it  attractive.  The  persons  in  whom  prosper- 
ity has  culminated  are  not  morally  stimulating  or  en- 
couraging. Many  of  them  are  discontented  with  the  re- 
sults of  their  own  achievements.  In  fact,  just  at  present, 
discontent  seems  to  be  the  prevailing  characteristic  of 
the  very  rich,  showing  itself  in  various  forms  of  restless- 
ness. The  discontent  of  the  rich  is  in  some  respects  a 
more  serious  criticism  upon  the  present  social  order  than 
the  discontent  of  the  poor.  The  discontent  of  the  poor 
shows  itself  in  a  struggle  for  the  betterment  of  social 
conditions.  The  discontent  of  the  rich  shows  the  folly 
of  relying  upon  outward  conditions  for  contentment; 
and  as  this  kind  of  discontent  becomes  manifest  in  so 
many  public  ways,  it  reacts  upon  the  minds  of  the 
young,  who  are  seeking  satisfaction  in  ideals.  Hence, 
the  search  for  other  ideals  than  those  which  seem  to  be 
no  longer  able  to  control  the  search  after  wealth. 
Money  making  may  have  some  very  satisfying  ends 
before  it,  but  the  amount  of  money  made  is  not  one  of 
them.  There  is  no  longer  any  doubt  that  a  very  consid- 
erable part  of  the  high  minded  and  reflective  youth  of 
the  country  is  in  search  of  ideals  which  may  give  per- 
sonal satisfaction  and  an  inspiring  career.  It  is  the 
most  encouraging  fact  in  our  present  educational  devel- 
opment. It  is  the  fact  of  which  at  present  those  of  us 
who  are  in  any  way  concerned  with  education  ought  to 
take  cognizance,  partly  that  we  ourselves  may  be  of 
good  cheer  in  our  work,  and  partly  that  through  our 
own  recognition  of  it  we  may  be  able  to  interpret  it 
rightly  to  others. 

Among  these  new,  and  as  yet  unformed  ideals,  I  rec- 
ognize those  which  look  toward  the  way  in  which  things 
should  be  done  rather  than  to  the  material  results  which 


NEW  IDEALS  BEFORE  YOUTH         325 

follow  from  the  doing  of  them.  The  most  noticeable 
expression  of  this  tendency  lies  in  the  growing  passion 
for  reform.  A  good  many  men  in  our  cities,  and 
throughout  the  country,  seem  to  be  determined  that  cer- 
tain things  shall  be  done  in  the  right  way — that  business 
shall  be  conducted  honestly,  that  government  shall  be 
conducted  fairly,  that  blundering  incompetency  and  dis- 
honest sharpness  shall  alike  be  driven  out  of  business 
and  out  of  pohtics.  Something  of  this  passion  for 
reform  will  pass  away  as  its  object  is  accomplished. 
The  time  may  be  nearer  at  hand  than  we  think  when  our 
cities  will  be  ruled  honestly  and  efficiently,  and  when 
our  great  enterprises,  at  least  those  of  a  semi-public 
nature,  will  be  conducted  in  the  interest  of  the  public. 
What  is  the  permanent  principle  which  lies  at  the  heart 
of  this  craving  for  honesty  in  method?  What  will 
remain  of  a  constructive  sort  when  the  more  insistent 
demands  for  reform  have  been  satisfied?  Honesty  in 
method,  truthfulness  in  detail,  reality  in  the  whole 
expression  of  any  great  purpose — these  make  up  the 
spirit  of  art.  All  art,  which  has  any  enduring  power, 
which  is  really  art,  rests  upon  truth.  Unconsciously 
perhaps,  but  really,  we  are  beginning  to  develop,  as  a 
people,  the  true  artistic  spirit.  We  become  unsatisfied, 
then  dissatisfied,  then  disgusted  with  sham,  whether  in 
the  form  of  unjust  government,  or  of  dishonesty  in  busi- 
ness, or  of  showy  and  meretricious  architecture,  or  of 
insincere  and  hollow  social  forms,  or  of  superficiality  in 
any  of  its  more  enticing  aspects.  It  is  a  good  sign  when 
people  feel  that  offences  against  morals  are  offences 
against  taste.  The  growth  in  moral  sense  shows  itself 
in  sensitiveness  toward  the  violation  of  good  form. 
What  we  first  feel  as  being  inappropriate,  or  for  any 


326  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

reason  improper,  we  feel  still  more,  if  we  continue  to 
think  about  it,  as  in  itself  wrong.  A  "gang"  of  corrupt 
politicians  gets  possession  of  a  city.  Only  a  few  have 
occasion  to  see  their  corrupt  practices,  but  every  intelli- 
gent and  refined  citizen  feels  the  incongruity  of  the  situ- 
ation. The  city  is  something  great  and  fair,  something 
to  be  honored  and  loved.  It  is  the  home  of  men  and 
women  and  little  children.  It  is  the  place  of  honorable 
business.  It  represents  the  hospitality  of  industry,  of 
education,  of  religion,  of  art.  No  one  can  think  of  a 
thing  so  fair  as  being  soiled  and  defiled  by  low  and  cor- 
rupt men  without  disgust  which  may  deepen  into  wrath. 
What  is  true  of  the  city  is  true  in  a  measure  of  every 
great  business  enterprise  which  concerns  the  public, 
especially  if  it  has  any  charitable  intent.  What  is  true 
of  politics  and  business  is  true  of  everything  which  gets 
a  corporate  existence.  Corporations  may  be  born  with- 
out souls,  but  if  they  do  not  acquire  souls,  we  do  not 
trust  them,  or  long  tolerate  them. 

I  believe  that  we  are  gradually  emerging  from  the 
materialistic  into  the  artistic  way  of  looking  at  things. 
The  artistic  spirit  has  begun  to  express  itself,  as  I  have 
said,  in  a  certain  discontent  with  riches.  All  mere  ac- 
cumulations are  seen  to  be  unsatisfying.  By  and  by, 
the  same  spirit  will  begin  to  show  itself  in  those  who  are 
struggling  after  merely  material  rewards  of  their  labor. 
Some  little  time  ago,  in  speaking  before  a  body  re^Dre- 
senting  the  interests  of  labor,  I  remarked: 

"The  wage  is  not,  and  never  can  be,  the  sufficient 
reward  of  labor.  This  is  just  as  true  of  the  salary  as 
of  the  wage.  The  difference  at  present  lies  in  the  fact 
that  the  person  on  a  low  salary  is  apt  to  take  more  satis- 
faction in  his  work  than  the  person  on  a  high  wage — the 


NEW  IDEALS  BEFORE  YOUTH         327 

school  teacher  on  $800  or  $1,000  a  year  in  distinction 
from  the  mechanic  on  $4  or  $6  a  day.     The  present 
ambition  of  the  higher  wage  earner  seems  to  inchne 
more  to  the  pecuniar}^  rewards  of  his  work  than  to  the 
work   itself.     Doubtless   this   tendency   is   due   in   no 
slight  degree  to  the  fact  that  the  wage  earner  is  brought 
into  constant  and  immediate  contact  with  the  money 
making  class.     He  sees  that  the  value  of  the  industry 
is  measured  chiefly  by  its  profits.    Sometimes  the  profits 
are  flaunted  in  his  face.    At  all  times  the  thing  in  evi- 
dence to  him  is  money.    I  deprecate  this  constant  com- 
parison between  the  capitalist  and  the  laborer.     The 
comparison  were  far  better  taken  between  the  workman 
and  other  men  whose  chief  reward  is  not  money.    The 
old  time  professions  still  live  and  maintain  their  posi- 
tion  through   a   certain   detachment    from   pecuniary 
rewards.     The  exceptional  doctor  may  receive  large 
fees,  but  his  profession  forbids  him  to  make  a  dollar  out 
of  any  discovery  which  he  may  make  in  medicine.    The 
exceptional  minister  may  receive  a  large  salary,  but  his 
profession  puts  the  premium  upon  self-denying  work. 
Even  the  law  is  more  distinctively  represented  by  the 
moderate   salary   of  the   average  judge  than   by  the 
retainer  of  the  counsel  for  a  wealthy  corporation.    The 
skilled  workman,  the  artisan,  belongs  with  these  men, 
not  with  the  money  makers.    In  allowing  himself  to  be 
commercialized  he  enters  upon  a  cheap  and  unsatisfy- 
ing competition.     His  work  is  an  art,  and  he  has  the 
possible  rewards  of  an  artist.     Under  medi^evalism  the 
guild  and  the  university  were  not  far  apart.     I  should 
like  to  see  the  relation  restored  and  extended." 

I  know  of  no  way  in  which  we  can  develop  more 
surely  the  artistic  spirit  in  school  than  by  insisting  upon 


328  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

the  art  of  doing  things  well.  Almost  anything  done  as 
well  as  it  can  be  done  gives  the  moral  effect  of  art.  In 
the  report  of  the  Yale  Faculty  upon  athletics,  football 
is  defended  and  upheld  very  largely  on  the  ground  that 
it  represents  more  than  almost  anything  else  the  thing 
which  is  well  done  in  college.  There  lies  its  educational, 
and  to  a  degree,  its  moral  effect.  For  the  same  reason, 
we  are  deriving  much  aid  from  our  manual  schools. 
Some  scholars  are  there  learning,  as  they  would  not 
learn  elsewhere,  the  art  of  doing  things  well.  If  we  can 
inculcate  this  spirit  in  our  schools,  we  shall  reap  the 
high  reward  of  our  work  in  the  love  for  work  itself, 
whatever  the  occupation  may  be,  implanting  it  in  the 
mind,  which  will  protect  it  ever  after  from  the  inor- 
dinate craze  for  merely  material  results. 

Among  the  new  and  as  yet  unformed  ideals,  we  rec- 
ognize further  those  which  look  toward  personal  devel- 
opment as  a  means  to  contentment  and  satisfaction.  As 
I  am  now  speaking  not  of  ideals  in  theory,  but  of  ideals 
which  are  becoming  facts,  I  call  your  attention  to  the 
evidence  that  this  particular  class  of  ideals  is  receiving 
public  recognition  elsewhere  as  well  as  here.  Arthur 
Benson  writing  in  the  "Academy"  interprets  education 
to  Englishmen  as  follows: 

"Instead  of  thinking  it  is  a  process,"  he  says,  "which 
ought  to  end  in  making  men  and  women  more  simple, 
more  content,  more  happy,  we  have  a  vague  idea  that 
it  will  enable  us  to  retain  our  commercial  superiority 
and  to  keep  ahead  of  America  and  Germany.  The  suc- 
cess, in  my  belief,  of  German  education  is  attested  not 
by  their  commercial  prosperity,  but  by  the  fact  that 
Germans  are  genuinely  devoted  to  intellectual  and 
artistic  pleasures." 


NEW  IDEALS  BEFORE  YOUTH         329 

Commenting  on  this  statement,  the  "New  York  Sun," 
after  criticising  one  phase  of  Mr.  Benson's  definition, 
says : 

"On  the  other  hand,  that  education  which  looks  solely 
to  preparation  for  earning  money  is  certainly  not  edu- 
cation at  all  in  the  true  sense  of  the  term.  This  is  fully 
understood  by  educators  in  this  country.  It  is  also 
understood  by  many  hard  headed  fathers.  The  demand 
of  men  who  have  got  rich  without  education,  and  who 
send  their  sons  to  college,  seems  to  be  for  an  education 
which  shall  combine  the  practical  with  the  ideal.  The 
man  who  wakes  up  in  the  middle  of  life  to  find  that  he 
cannot  enjoy  anything  but  his  bath  and  his  dinner  (and 
frequently,  because  of  indigestion,  not  even  the  latter) , 
who  learns  that  the  world  is  full  of  truth  and  beauty 
that  he  cannot  penetrate,  does  not  really  wish  that  his 
son  shall  tread  the  same  path  that  he  has  trodden." 

There  is  no  antagonism  between  utility  as  an  end  of 
education  and  personal  culture  when  one  is  properly 
related  to  the  other.  It  does  not  follow  that  because  a 
thing  is  useful  it  is  therefore  not  beautiful  and  a  source 
of  joy.  Nature  seldom  developes  beauty  through 
waste  of  power.  But  any  education  which  fails  to  react 
upon  the  mind  itself  is  partial  and  insufficient.  One  of 
the  most  useful  persons  whom  I  have  ever  known,  whose 
life  had  been  a  life  of  devoted  service  in  other  lands, 
when  asked  what  was  the  general  advantage  to  her  of  a 
college  education,  replied, — "It  enables  me  to  enjoy  my 
own  mind.  It  gives  me  resources  upon  which  I  can 
draw  in  times  of  loneliness,  even  of  isolation."  I 
beheve  that  more  and  more  persons  of  understanding 
are  coming  to  see  the  futility  of  simply  doing  things 
without  some  consequent  enrichment  of  their  own  lives. 


330  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

Here  again  there  is  a  growing  discontent  on  the  part 
of  many  whose  lives  are  full  of  activity.  The  power 
to  do,  although  the  result  be  a  high  achievement,  is  not 
a  completely  satisfying  power.  The  sense  of  personal 
growth  and  enlargement,  the  closer  appreciation  of  the 
work  of  others,  as  well  as  of  one's  own  work,  the  larger 
and  more  vitalized  knowledge,  all  or  some  one  of  these 
things,  becomes  essential  to  people  of  maturity.  Here 
again  by  simple  reaction,  we  are  coming  around  to  the 
strictly  educational  ideal. 

More  attention  is  being  given  to  the  enrichment  of 
courses  in  our  technical  schools  looking  toward  personal 
culture.  The  movement  started  two  or  three  years  ago 
toward  shortening  the  college  course  had  for  one  object 
the  introduction  of  the  college  course  as  a  prerequisite 
to  professional  study.  There  is  always  danger  of  a 
certain  amount  of  snobbishness  in  the  use  of  the  term 
liberal  education,  meaning  thereby  an  education  which 
is  not  set  toward  some  direct  end  of  utility.  But  the 
idea  itself  is  one  of  universal  importance  and  applies 
quite  as  much  to  secondary  education,  or  even  to  ele- 
mentary education,  as  to  colleges  and  universities.  The 
idea  is  that  of  making  the  individual  of  most  value  to 
himself.  It  takes  account  of  what  he  is  as  well  as  of 
what  he  does.  It  represents  the  kind  of  education  which 
insists  all  the  while  upon  the  appreciation  of  work  as 
well  as  upon  the  work  itself.  It  insists  that  it  is  more 
to  the  individual  and  to  society  that  we  should  have 
broad,  sane,  well  developed,  and  well  tempered  people, 
than  that  these  same  people  by  any  lack  in  these  quali- 
ties should  thereby  become  more  perfect  machines.  The 
same  principle  holds  in  respect  to  people  of  small  oppor- 
tunity as  in  respect  to  people  of  large  opportunity.    It 


NEW  IDEALS  BEFORE  YOUTH         331 

is  always  pitiful  to  see  persons,  who  have  abundant 
means  for  seeing  the  best  things  in  the  world,  entirely- 
unintelligent  and  unappreciative  travellers,  persons  who 
simply  move  about,  who  never  become  travelled  people. 
In  like  manner,  it  is  quite  possible  for  persons  of  small 
means  to  be  unable  to  acquaint  themselves  with  the  best 
things  which  are  near  at  hand,  for  want  of  even  the 
most  elementary  self  development.  Everything  in  this 
country  is  tending  toward  a  larger  opportunity  for  leis- 
ure. The  eight  hour  law  for  labor  is  setting  the  stand- 
ard for  work.  What  are  people  to  do  with  their  leisure  ? 
Our  schools  are  to  answer,  in  good  part,  this  question. 
I  believe  that  it  is  possible  for  us,  through  the  ideals  we 
encourage,  to  make  this  enlarging  opportunity  rich  in 
the  personal  experience  of  a  great  many  persons  who 
are  now  in  our  schools.  In  fact,  I  can  see,  that  side 
by  side  with  the  more  careful  and  more  strenuous  train- 
ing for  work  which  is  going  on,  we  must  see  to  it  that 
there  is  an  equally  careful  and  helpful  training  toward 
the  use  of  leisure  on  the  part  of  these  same  workers. 
We  no  longer  have  before  us  the  alternative  of  work 
and  play,  but  the  coming  alternative  of  work  and  oppor- 
tunity, opportunity  for  personal  growth,  enlargement, 
and  increase  of  value,  both  to  the  individual  and  to 
society. 

Among  these  new,  and  as  yet  unformed  ideals,  I  rec- 
ognize still  more  clearly  those  which  are  set  directly 
toward  the  high  ends  of  service.  The  past  decades  have 
been  conspicuous  for  gifts  of  money.  Most  of  these 
gifts  have  been  of  great  value,  as  an  expression  of  good 
judgment  and  perhaps  of  some  sacrifice  on  the  part 
of  the  giver,  and  also  as  meeting  public  wants,  from  the 
most    urgent    necessities    of    charity    to    the    highest 


332  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

demands  of  education.  These  same  decades  have  not 
been  equally  lavish  in  the  direct  gifts  of  personal  power. 
State  and  church  alike  have  lacked  for  unselfish  men. 
There  are  signs  of  a  change  in  this  record.  The  men 
who  are  most  conspicuous  in  their  influence  today  are 
the  men  who  are  giving  themselves  directly  to  the  ser- 
vice of  society,  and  of  the  country,  and  of  the  world. 
President  Roosevelt  has  been  referred  to  in  one  of  the 
quotations  which  I  have  given  as  a  man  who  is  doing 
much,  through  his  personal  activities,  to  change  the 
ideals  of  American  youth.  I  should  put  beside  him,  at 
this  particular  point  which  we  are  now  discussing,  Mr. 
Root  and  Mr.  Taft,  both  men  who  have  left  the  oppor- 
tunities of  lucrative  professions  to  give  themselves  to 
the  most  arduous  and  perplexing  problems  now  before 
the  country.  I  believe  that  their  course  of  action  will 
prove  to  be  so  influential  in  shaping  the  careers  of  many 
of  the  high  minded  young  men  of  this  country  that  we 
shall  not  hereafter  lack  for  real  public  servants.  These 
examples  in  high  place  are  matched  by  men  in  less  con- 
spicuous, but  in  most  responsible,  positions  in  the  state 
and  throughout  the  cities. 

The  advances  which  have  been  made  through  modern 
science  are  due  in  great  measure  to  the  ardent,  unselfish 
and  even  sacrificing  devotion  of  individual  scientists  to 
their  tasks.  I  have  had  occasion  to  say,  more  than  once, 
that  the  profession  which  has  made  the  greatest  advance 
during  the  past  generation  is  the  profession  of  medicine, 
due  in  part  to  its  opportunity,  but  still  more  to  the  cour- 
age, and  daring,  and  sacrifice,  of  some  members  of  that 
profession. 

After  having  had  an  experience  both  instructive  and 
profitable  as  to  what  can  be  accomplished  indirectly 


NEW  IDEALS  BEFORE  YOUTH         333 

through  wealth,  we  are  coming  to  set  a  still  higher  value 
upon  the  things  which  can  be  accomplished  through  per- 
sonal service.  And  the  opportunities  which  invite  ser- 
vice of  a  personal  sort  are  increasing,  and  are  becoming 
more  inviting.  I  can  see  nothing  quite  so  attractive  to 
a  young  man  of  today  as  the  opportunity  to  give  him- 
self, if  he  be  thoroughly  furnished  and  equipped  for  his 
work,  to  some  high  task  of  a  personal  sort;  these  tasks 
are  so  great  and  so  inspiring.  A  new  valuation  has 
been  put,  during  the  past  years,  upon  the  more  per- 
sonal callings — upon  teaching  in  its  enormous  range  of 
opportunity,  upon  politics,  upon  the  ministry  including 
the  missionary  service,  upon  business  itself,  so  much 
more  sensitive  than  ever  before  on  its  human  side. 
When  Peter  Cooper  went  to  New  York,  a  poor  young 
man,  he  resolved  to  make  a  fortune  and  to  devote  that 
fortune  to  the  young  men  and  women  of  the  city.  That 
ideal  was  continually  before  him  in  every  detail  in  the 
work  of  his  factory.  Some  men  can  work  to  the  best 
advantage  toward  a  remote  end.  There  are  men  who 
are  illustrating  this  principle  today  in  all  the  greater 
businesses  of  the  country.  But  the  ideals  of  service 
which  are  appealing  most  effectively  at  the  present  time 
are  those  which,  in  some  form,  give  a  man  immediate 
contact  with  his  fellows,  or  with  the  organized  forces  of 
society.  All  about  us,  men  are  rising  up  who  are  saying 
to  us,  by  their  example,  that  there  is  no  joy  like  the  joy 
of  personal  devotion  and  personal  sacrifice  in  the  inter- 
est of  our  common  humanity. 

In  calling  your  attention  by  this  rapid  sketch  to  the 
change  in  ideals  which  is  going  on  in  our  generation,  I 
have  not  wished  to  overestimate  the  fact  or  its  signifi- 
cance.    There    is    nothing    revolutionary    about    the 


334  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

change.  Apparently  things  are  going  on  without 
change  in  the  personal  ambitions  and  plans  of  men.  But 
underneath  the  social  surface,  down  where  the  normal 
instincts  are  at  work,  the  change  is  going  on.  The  old 
ideals  are  ceasing  to  act  as  ideals.  They  have  hard- 
ened into  forms,  that  is,  into  the  mere  way  of  doing 
things.  The  new  ideals  are  slowly  forming,  but  they 
are  beginning  to  assert  their  claims.  They  are  getting 
a  hearing  among  those  whose  ears  are  keener  to  hear 
the  still  voices  than  the  tumult  of  the  street.  They  are 
beginning  to  show  their  men,  men  of  the  true  artistic 
temper,  some  able  to  do  the  rough,  hard  work  of  reform 
in  the  interest  of  truth,  some  able  to  do  the  fine  con- 
structive work  of  truth  in  thought  and  expression :  men 
also  of  high  contentment  in  their  possession  of  the  desir- 
able and  enjoyable  riches  of  knowledge,  taste,  and  per- 
sonal culture :  and  men  also  capable  of  service,  great  in 
their  capacity  for  service  and  joyous  in  their  oppor- 
tunity. 

In  the  formation  of  these  new  and  struggling  ideals 
we  can  do  much  to  give  them  a  place  in  the  generation 
upon  whose  sensitive  material,  at  its  most  sensitive  time, 
we  are  now  acting.  Our  work  and  its  results  are  at 
least  twenty  years  apart.  The  men  and  women  that 
are  to  be  cannot  really  declare  themselves  till  long  after 
we  have  said  our  last  word.  It  may  be  asked.  Will  the 
ideals,  which  we  now  discern  and  for  which  we  strive, 
be  the  practical  ideals  of  those  days  of  action  which  are 
yet  to  come?  Dismiss  all  doubts  on  this  matter.  The 
great  artists  in  the  broad  and  high  sense  in  which  I 
have  used  the  term,  builders  in  truth  and  reality,  look- 
ing to  the  quality  of  their  work:  the  great  characters 
rich  in  themselves  above  all  possessions  of  other  men: 


NEW  IDEALS  BEFORE  YOUTH         335 

and  the  great  servants  of  men,  able  to  serve,  daring  to 
serve,  glad  to  serve — these  are  they  for  whom  the  nation 
waits.  It  will  not  miss  them  when  they  come.  I  comit 
it  the  special  honor  of  our  profession  that  we  may  be 
permitted  to  introduce  so  many  of  them  to  their  future, 
and  to  the  future  of  the  country. 


XXIV 

THE  STUDY  OF  CONTEMPORARY  GREAT- 
NESS 

Lecture  before  the  Faculty  and  Cadets  of  the  United  States 
Naval  Academy,  Annapolis,  Md. 

When  the  present  series  of  lectures  was  inaugurated, 
to  be  given  in  part  by  men  not  of  your  profession,  it 
was  not  of  course  expected  that  those  coming  to  you 
from  the  outside  would  intrude  upon  the  subjects  of 
your  daily  routine.  Nor  was  it  expected,  I  assume,  that 
they  would  speak  to  you  merely  in  the  way  of  relief  or 
diversion.  There  are  sub j  ects  enough  of  common  inter- 
est and  common  concern  to  intelligent  men,  however 
diverse  their  technical  training  may  be.  In  fact  the 
training  which  separates  us  one  from  another,  rests  alto- 
gether upon  a  common  discipline,  and  a  common  fund 
of  information,  and  a  common  intellectual  sense  and 
judgment.  I  take  my  subject,  therefore,  from  the  ter- 
ritory which  belongs  to  us  all. 

I  am  sure  that  you  will  agree  with  me  when  I  say  that 
the  most  necessary  complement  to  professional  training 
of  any  sort  is  a  proper  knowledge  of  human  nature. 
The  man  of  ideas,  of  books,  of  problems,  may  or  may 
not  be  the  master  of  men.  Here  lies  the  difference 
between  many  men  who  are  otherwise  of  equal  power. 
The  art  of  knowing  men,  of  so  knowing  them  as  to  be 
able  to  handle  them,  to  be  able  to  get  the  human  part  as 
well  as  the  machine  part  of  any  man  into  full  action,  to 
bring  out  in  emergencies  that  last  reserve  of  power 


THE   STUDY  OF  GREATNESS         337 

which  only  a  master  can  reach  and  command, — this  is  an 
art,  and  a  very  great  art,  which  can  be  learned  only  in 
the  school  of  experience.  It  cannot  be  very  much  an- 
ticipated. But  there  is  another  side  of  this  knowledge 
of  human  nature  which  is  within  earlier  reach.  Singu- 
larly enough  it  is  not  so  difficult  to  reach  men  who  are 
above  us,  as  it  is  to  reach  men  who  are  below  us.  The 
extraordinary  man  is  more  accessible,  for  certain  uses  at 
least,  than  the  ordinary  man.  In  other  words  it  is  pos- 
sible for  us  to  begin  to  know  and  to  measure  great  men 
before  we  are  able  to  understand  human  nature  at  large 
well  enough  to  utilize  it,  or  fully  command  it.  A  great 
man  is  like  a  problem.  He  falls  within  those  principles 
and  laws  and  tests  with  which  we  are  familiar.  It  is  no 
more  impertinent  to  attempt  to  analyze  such  a  man  than 
it  is  to  attack  a  problem  in  mathematics.  And  though  I 
cannot  promise  that  the  study  will  yield  the  same  result, 
I  can  and  do  affirm  that  the  process  is  a  legitimate  part 
of  all  true  education.  And  believing  this,  I  think  that  I 
can  render  you  no  better  service  than  to  speak  to  you 
about  the  understanding  of  great  men,  especially  those 
of  our  own  time,  as  the  proper  introduction  to  the 
knowledge  of  human  nature.  The  right  approach  to 
the  knowledge  of  man  is  through  the  knowledge  of 
men,  otherwise  our  knowledge  is  always  academic  and 
doctrinaire. 

Further  than  this  I  believe  that  it  is  the  peculiar  duty 
of  the  trained,  the  educated  man  of  every  sort,  to  make 
himself  competent  to  pass  judgment  upon  men  in  the 
various  departments  of  public  life,  not  official  life  only, 
but  public  life;  judgment  which  shall  be  discriminating, 
appreciative,  authoritative  it  may  be,  corrective  at  least 
of    all   partial,    prejudiced    or    uninformed    opinions, 

22 


338  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

whether  popular  or  professional.  The  cultivation  of 
judgment  of  this  kind  seems  to  me  to  be  one  of  the 
higher  functions  of  education.  I  can  hardly  hope  to 
give  you  more  than  an  illustration  of  my  meaning,  but 
I  will  try  to  do  this  by  discussing  with  you  some  of  the 
more  modern  types  of  greatness.  I  shall  not  have  very 
much  to  say  about  individual  men,  but  we  will  examine 
together  some  of  the  types  of  greatness  which  are  now 
forming,  or  coming  to  the  front,  to  see  how  far  they  con- 
form to  those  tests  which  time  has  established. 

Some  years  ago,  as  I  was  walking  with  a  friend,  he 
put  to  me  the  abrupt  question,  "Who  is  your  great  man, 
your  great  man  of  today?"  My  answer  is  immaterial, 
but  upon  returning  the  question  to  him,  he  replied  at 
once,  "I  think  that  I  should  say  Pasteur."  Now  my 
friend  was  altogether  a  literary  man,  with  no  leaning 
whatever  toward  the  natural  sciences,  although  a  man 
of  cosmopolitan  habit  of  mind.  When  therefore  he 
referred  without  hesitation  to  the  great  French  natu- 
ralist (of  whom  Mr.  Huxley  said  that  his  experiments 
were  worth  to  France  the  cost  of  the  Franco-Prussian 
war),  as  his  type  of  modern  greatness,  his  answer 
seemed  to  me  to  be  very  significant.  It  seemed  to  me 
to  indicate  not  only  the  incoming,  but  the  recognition  of 
the  incoming  of  a  new  type  of  greatness,  a  type  so  dis- 
tinct and  honorable  that  we  must  make  room  for  it. 

I  was  still  more  impressed  with  the  necessity  of 
enlarging  our  notions  of  what  belongs  within  the  range 
of  contemporary  greatness,  as  I  had  occasion  to  pass 
judgment  on  the  list  of  famous  Americans,  candidates 
for  the  Hall  of  Fame.  It  was  easy  enough  to  fill  out 
the  required  number  from  among  the  old  fashioned 
favorites, — authors,  statesmen,  soldiers:  but  here  were 


THE   STUDY  OF  GREATNESS         339 

new  men  of  equal  value,  if  not  of  equal  renown,  to  be 
taken  into  account — inventors,  explorers,  philanthro- 
pists, men  of  affairs.  No  age  can  afford  to  be  provin- 
cial in  its  judgment.  The  boundaries  of  greatness  are 
enlarging,  and  he  who  would  know  the  modern  world 
must  first  of  all  know  the  men  who  are  making  it. 

These  illustrations  are  sufficient  to  suggest  the  fact 
that  while  greatness  has  its  invariable  qualities,  what  I 
shall  call  its  constants,  through  which  it  lays  hold  upon 
all  ages,  it  has  also  its  variations,  sufficient  to  produce 
types,  through  which  it  may  be  more  strictly  identified 
with  a  given  age.  A  great  man  may  be  great  enough 
to  owe  nothing  to  his  surroundings.  Such  a  phenom- 
enon occasionally  appears.  His  own  time  may  not  rec- 
ognize him.  It  may  be  difficult  for  after  times  to  place 
him  among  his  contemporaries.  Such  has  been  the  for- 
tune of  Shakespeare.  To  each  succeeding  age  he  is 
modern,  the  companion  of  all  thinking  men,  and  of  all 
heroic  souls. 

But  greatness  for  the  most  part  is  something  which 
can  be  localized.  Usually  it  is  wrought  out  openly  and 
plainly  before  the  eyes  of  men.  Without  explaining  the 
process,  they  can  see  here  and  there  one  of  their  own 
number  actually  becoming  great,  by  taking  up  into  him- 
self the  material  which  is  common  to  them  all,  but  which 
they  cannot  assimilate  or  control.  He  sees  the  things 
which  lie  unnoted,  perhaps  undiscovered,  at  their  feet. 
He  rules  with  the  ease  of  power  among  the  forces  which 
they  feel,  but  which  they  cannot  master.  He  is 
supremely,  almost  divinely  beneficent,  under  the  very 
conditions  and  before  the  very  difficulties  to  which  they 
succumb  in  a  complaining  or  despairing  weakness.  I 
think  that  that  which  enhances  the  greatness  of  a  great 


340  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

man  is  the  fact  that  he  is  seen  and  felt  to  be  great  in 
the  same  circmnstances  in  which  other  men  consciously 
fall  short,  or  abide  in  the  commonplace. 

If  then  greatness  can,  as  a  rule,  be  localized,  if  great 
men  do  take  on  appreciable  growths,  and  gradually- 
separate  themselves  from  those  with  whom  they  have  so 
much  in  common,  it  is  well  for  us  to  look  on  and  watch 
the  process,  whenever  we  have  the  opportunity.  We 
cannot  afford  to  ignore  or  underestimate  contemporary 
greatness.  There  we  see  greatness  in  the  making.  We 
see  of  course  the  early  crudity,  the  frequent  mistakes,  it 
may  be  the  temporary  failure,  but  we  also  see  what  we 
can  see  no  where  else,  how  it  is  that  men  are  born  into 
the  world,  how  they  get  out  of  the  provincial  into  the 
universal,  how  they  actually  "achieve"  greatness.  As 
I  pass  therefore  to  speak  more  definitely  of  some  mod- 
ern types  of  greatness,  I  shall  try  to  point  out,  not  by 
name  but  by  quality,  who  is  the  great  man  of  today. 

By  common  consent,  the  foremost  quality  of  great- 
ness is  originality.  Certainly  no  man  can  reach  the 
highest  order  of  greatness  without  it.  I  do  not  pro- 
pose to  stumble  over  the  definition  of  originality,  but 
I  would  like  to  say  for  our  present  purpose,  that  to  my 
mind  it  does  not  consist  in  thinking  away  from  men, 
but  rather  in  thinking  toward  truth,  toward  fact,  toward 
reality.  To  differ  with  others  does  not  make  one  orig- 
inal. It  makes  one  simply  odd.  Oddity  is  mere  diver- 
gence of  opinion,  a  falling  out  to  the  right  hand  or  the 
left.  Originality  is  that  difference  of  the  one  from  the 
many  which  can  be  measured  on  a  straight  hne  toward 
the  truth.  The  original  man  is  the  man  ahead  of  the 
rest  of  us,  not  the  man  moving  at  a  tangent.  The  orig- 
inal mind  is  the  mind  nearest  the  truth,  and  yet  original- 


THE   STUDY  OF  GREATNESS         341 

ity  is  not  remoteness  from  men ;  it  is  simply  nearness  to 
reality.  It  declares  itself  with  unmistakable  genuine- 
ness in  the  investigator  who  forces  his  way  through  tra- 
ditions and  theories  into  the  presence  of  facts  which 
have  been  waiting  his  coming;  in  the  poet  who  lives  at 
the  heart  of  the  common  humanity :  in  the  prophet  whose 
conscience  clarifies  his  mental  vision:  in  any  master  of 
men  who  can  divine  motives,  interpret  events,  and 
organize  for  results  according  to  his  insight.  "That 
virtue  of  originality,"  Ruskin  used  to  say  in  his  grand 
impatience,  "which  men  so  strive  after  is  not  newness, 
as  they  vainly  think,  it  is  only  genuineness.  It  all 
depends  on  the  single  glorious  faculty  of  getting  to  the 
spring  of  things  and  working  out  from  that.  It  is  the 
coolness  and  clearness  and  dehciousness  of  the  water 
fresh  from  the  fountain  head,  opposed  to  the  thick,  hot, 
unrefreshing  drainage  from  other  men's  meadows." 

I  should  put  without  hesitancy  as  the  next  essential 
of  greatness,  authority,  the  compelling  force,  the  force 
which  somehow  puts  the  original  idea  of  purpose  into 
the  event.  Authority  is  not  expressed  in  mere  assertive- 
ness,  and  it  has  no  certain  equivalent  in  influence. 
Influence  does  not  always  force  a  conclusion.  Author- 
ity is  that  power,  it  is  the  only  power,  which  deals  with 
those  hesitant  and  unwilhng  forces,  which  are  so  often 
necessary  to  progress.  Authority  does  not  always 
declare  itself  in  leadership.  There  are  times  when  lead- 
ership is  impossible.  Men  will  not  be  led,  they  will  not 
respond  to  the  summons,  or  even  to  the  challenge  to 
duty.  At  such  times  the  authoritative  element  often 
appears  to  clearest  and  finest  advantage.  The  man  who 
possesses  it  remains  the  master  of  himself,  if  not  of  his 
time.    He  refuses  to  surrender  or  compromise  his  pur- 


342  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

pose,  he  refuses  to  lower  liimself  to  the  commonplace, 
he  resists  the  depressing,  deadening  influences  about 
him,  and  finally  accomplishes  in  men  who  come  after 
him,  what  he  could  not  accomplish  through  his  contem- 
poraries. I  recall  the  use  which  George  Adam  Smith 
makes  of  the  great  figure  of  Isaiah,  "a  man  shall  be  as 
an  hiding  place  from  the  tempest,  as  the  shadow  of  a 
great  rock  in  a  weary  land;"  that  as  a  rock  set  in  the 
desert  stays  the  drift  of  the  sand  till  the  seeds  blown  by 
the  same  wind  catch  at  its  base  and  spring  into  verdure ; 
so  a  great  man  may  set  his  back  against  the  drift  of  the 
commonplace,  and  stay  its  deadly  sweep,  till  the  new 
life  of  the  age  has  time  to  take  root  and  a  new  civiliza- 
tion springs  up  at  his  feet.  That,  it  seems  to  me,  is  a 
fit  illustration  of  authority.  The  authoritative  man  is 
as  clear  cut  a  figure  when  he  compels  a  halt  in  the  dull, 
heavy,  deadening  tramp  of  a  race  or  of  an  age,  as  when 
he  heads  the  march  to  freedom. 

I  think  that  you  will  agree  with  me,  though  you  will 
want  considerable  latitude  in  the  application  of  the 
term,  when  I  say  that  one  other  essential  quality  of 
greatness  is  beneficence.  We  shall  certainly  agree  that 
no  merely  destructive  person,  whether  in  war,  politics, 
or  literature,  can  be  termed  great.  The  only  question 
which  we  should  wish  to  investigate  before  passing 
judgment  on  any  one  of  destructive  method  would  be, 
was  his  method  necessary  or  legitimate,  was  he  the 
rebel,  the  skeptic,  the  iconoclast  in  the  interest  of  free- 
dom or  truth.  I  will  not  follow  the  temptation  to  illus- 
trate at  this  point,  but  content  myself  rather  with  reaf- 
firming the  beneficent  quality  as  indispensable  to  great- 
ness. Give  the  term  what  range  you  will,  allow  the  wid- 
est interpretation,  be  tolerant  of  motives  and  methods. 


THE   STUDY  OF  GREATNESS         343 

but  never  surrender  this  ingredient  or  factor  of  great- 
ness: do  not  make  greatness  a  synonym  of  force,  not 
even  in  the  shape  of  intellectualism.  As  Emerson  says 
of  Napoleon,  who,  under  the  most  favorable  conditions, 
tried  the  experiment  of  divorcing  intellectual  power 
from  conscience,  "He  did  all  that  in  him  lay  to  live  and 
thrive  without  moral  principle.  It  was  the  nature  of 
things,  the  eternal  law  of  man  and  of  the  world  which 
balked  and  ruined  him:  and  the  result  in  a  million  of 
experiments  will  be  the  same."   . 

These  then  are  the  constants  of  greatness — original- 
ity, authority,  beneficence.  They  rule  through  all  the 
ages.  We  cannot  have  greatness  without  them.  Men 
as  they  come  up  in  each  generation  on  their  way  to 
greatness  must  pass  these  tests.  They  tell  us  whether 
men  are  really  great  or  not.  It  is  not  necessary,  as  I 
have  intimated,  that  these  constants  of  greatness  should 
exist  in  equal  proportion  in  a  given  case.  Naturally 
one  quality  will  predominate.  But  each  lends  some- 
thing to  the  others.  They  may  be  transposed :  one  may 
be  cause,  the  other  effect.  Beneficence  may  stimulate 
originality,  or  it  may  be  the  outgrowth  and  result  of 
the  originating  intellectual  impulse.  Authority  in  its 
highest  exercise  implies  both  originality  and  beneficence. 

What  now  shall  we  say  is  the  opportunity  which  our 
times  afford  for  the  exercise  of  these  qualities  which 
make  for  greatness?  Is  greatness,  as  we  see  it  in  the 
making,  being  developed  under  originality,  or  by  au- 
thority, or  through  beneficence?  Are  the  great  men 
of  our  time  great  because  they  are  original,  or  because 
they  are  authoritative,  or  because  they  are  beneficent? 

In  what  direction  and  under  what  form  shall  we  look 
for  originality?    Other  ages  have  passed  through  our 


344  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

experience,  namely  the  sense  of  intellectual  confusion 
consequent  upon  the  sudden  arrest  of  accepted  prin- 
ciples and  methods  of  thought.  Ours  is  not  the  first 
age  to  meet  the  stout  challenge  of  doubt  in  the  interest 
of  the  greater  truth.  And  the  change,  which  we  are  now 
seeing  that  such  a  conflict  effects  in  the  expression  of 
originality,  is  in  no  wise  unusual.  Poetry,  for  example, 
demands  the  great  certainties.  It  is  the  child  of  faith, 
not  of  doubt,  not  even  of  inquiry.  It  does  not  question : 
it  interprets.  We  have  not  lacked  for  great  poets,  but 
they  have  been  mostly  an  inheritance — Tennyson  with 
his  larger  hope,  Lowell  with  his  passion  for  public  right- 
eousness. Neither  one  of  these,  nor  all  of  our  time,  with 
the  possible  exception  of  Browning,  can  be  said  to  be 
the  product  of  the  time.  If  I  were  asked  to  name  a  poet 
born  out  of  the  intellectual  conditions  which  are  fast 
passing,  and  still  a  poet,  I  should  unhesitatingly  name 
Matthew  Arnold,  the  poet  of  doubt,  and  yet  a  poet  in 
spite  of  his  doubt,  retreating  continually  into  the 
remaining  certainties  of  faith;  if  a  poet  born  out  of 
conditions  just  now  dominant,  I  should  name  Rudyard 
Kipling,  the  poet  of  force ;  force  in  man,  or  in  things. 

From  the  nature  of  the  case  we  must  turn  from 
poetry  to  science  to  find  the  present  incentive  to  orig- 
inality. Science,  especially  natural  science,  has  made 
two  contributions  to  the  originality  of  our  age.  It  has 
given  a  new,  a  most  fascinating,  and  an  increasingly 
beneficent  field  for  research  and  inquiry.  When  my 
friend  referred  to  Pasteur  as  his  present  exemplifica- 
tion of  greatness,  he  had  in  mind,  I  think,  quite  as  much 
the  beneficence  as  the  originality  of  the  work  of  the 
great  experimenter.  His  exploration  of  that  "third 
realm  of  nature"  as  the  world  in  which  he  toiled  has  been 


THE   STUDY  OF  GREATNESS         345 

styled,  that  populous  territory  lying  between  the  ani- 
mate and  inanimate  creation,  gives  us  the  nearest 
approach  which  we  have  yet  gained  to  the  mystery  of 
life  and  death. 

But  if  the  beneficence  of  science  is  yet  to  be  more 
fully  established,  nothing  is  wanting  to  show  its  intel- 
lectual impulse.  No  one  can  overestimate  the  effect  of 
this  opening  of  new  territory  upon  an  age  which  had 
begun  to  lament  its  limitations  and  barrenness.  The 
power  to  invade  unknown  realms  of  nature  with  theory 
and  experiment,  and  to  explore  as  well  as  discover,  has 
given  to  our  time  something  of  the  adventurous  spirit 
of  the  age  which  ushered  in  the  modern  epoch.  Indeed 
we  are  much  more  closely  related  to  that  age  of  adven- 
ture and  discovery  than  to  any  preceding  age  of  subtle 
metaphysics,  or  of  religious  mysticism.  We  literally 
feel  the  enlargement  of  the  earth  and  of  the  world. 
The  proportion  of  the  new  to  the  old  is  increasing,  and 
though  the  stage  of  wonder  and  bewilderment  has 
nearly  passed,  we  are  still  living  in  the  pleasurable 
excitement  of  expectation. 

I  have  been  very  much  interested  in  the  contrast 
between  the  optimism  of  the  scientist,  and  the  pessimism 
of  the  literary  man  which  Dr.  Minot  of  Harvard  drew, 
in  his  address  at  Baltimore  before  the  American  Society 
of  Naturalists.  "The  best,"  he  says,  "that  we  gain 
from  the  pursuit  of  research  is,  I  believe,  our  character- 
istic optimism.  We  are  engaged  in  achieving  results, 
and  results  of  the  most  permanent  quality.  A  business 
man  may  achieve  a  fortune,  but  time  will  dissipate  it. 
A  statesman  may  be  the  savior  of  a  nation,  but  how  long 
do  nations  live?  Knowledge  has  no  country,  belongs 
to  no  class,   but  is  the  might  of  mankind,  and  it  is 


346  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

mightier  for  what  each  of  us  has  done.  We  have 
brought  our  stones,  and  they  are  built  into  the  edifice, 
and  into  its  grandeur.  My  stone  is  a  small  one.  It  will 
be  certainly  forgotten  that  it  is  mine,  nevertheless  it 
will  remain  in  place. 

"How  different  is  the  pessimism  toward  which  lit- 
erary men  are  seen  to  tend:  Harvard  University  lost 
James  Russell  Lowell  in  1892,  and  Asa  Grey  in  1888. 
The  letters  of  both  of  these  eminent  men  have  been  pub- 
lished. Lowell's  letters  grow  sad  and  discouraged,  and 
he  gives  way  more  and  more  to  the  pessimistic  spirit. 
Grey  is  optimistic  to  the  end.  The  difference  was 
partly  due  to  natural  temperament,  but  chiefly,  I  think, 
to  the  influence  of  their  respective  professions.  The 
subject  material  of  the  literary  man  is  familiar  human 
nature  and  familiar  human  surroundings,  and  his  task 
is  to  express  the  thoughts  and  dreams  which  these  sug- 
gest. He  must  compete  with  the  whole  past,  with  all 
the  genius  that  has  been.  There  is  nothing  new  under 
the  sun,  he  exclaims.  But  to  us  it  is  a  problem  contra- 
dicted by  our  own  experience." 

I  cannot  accept  this  conclusion,  let  me  say  in  passing. 
There  is  a  mistake  here,  as  it  seems  to  me,  in  confound- 
ing the  pathos  of  literature  with  pessimism.  Literature 
is  the  interpretation  of  human  life.  But  the  progress 
of  human  life,  even  on  its  most  heroic  plane  as  it  moves 
to  divinest  ends,  is  pathetic.  The  optimism  of  science 
is  based  on  the  calculation  of  certainties.  Science  takes 
no  backward  step  unless  it  be  to  retrieve  an  error. 
There  are  none  of  those  strange  fluctuations  in  its 
career,  which  attend  the  enthusiasm  of  men  sometimes 
guided  to  right  ends,  sometimes  misguided,  often  issuing 
in  corresponding  depressions.     The  attitude  of  science 


THE  STUDY  OF  GREATNESS         347 

is  continually  expectant.  The  imagination  of  the  poet, 
the  faith  of  the  seer,  have  nothing  to  offer  in  the  way 
of  newness  at  all  comparable  with  the  discoveries  of  the 
scientist.  Science  therefore  free  from  the  fluctuation 
incident  to  human  progress,  untouched  by  the  pathos  of 
human  life,  continually  watching  for  more  fact,  must  be 
optimistic  up  to  the  last  limit  of  certainty.  There  the 
optimism  of  science  fails.  But  it  is  just  there  that  the 
optimism  of  literature,  as  expressing  the  hope  and  faith 
of  humanity  begins.  Up  to  that  point,  it  may  be  the 
pathos  which  is  mistaken  for  pessimism,  then,  the  calm 
or  exultant  assurance  of  faith.  Just  where  the  scien- 
tist ceases  to  tread  with  firm  and  certain  step,  the  poet 
takes  wing. 

Acknowledging,  within  its  limits,  the  optimism  of  sci- 
ence, I  add  that  the  contribution  of  science  to  the  orig- 
inality of  our  time  is  most  marked  in  the  creation  of  the 
scientific  spirit.  Having  first  startled,  then  angered  the 
established  mind  of  the  age,  it  soon  began  to  stimulate 
and  vivify.  The  present  fact  is  that  the  scientific  spirit 
has  set  everybody  to  thinking.  Some  were  not  prepared 
for  it,  some  will  get  no  further  than  confusion,  some 
will  stick  in  some  kind  of  denial  or  unbelief ;  the  few  will 
lead  the  way  into  the  clearer  thought  and  into  the 
higher  and  more  certain  faith,  and  the  multitude  will 
follow.  The  tendency  is  toward  originality,  not  merely 
as  expressed  in  investigation,  but  in  high  reasoning  and 
in  the  assertion  of  principles  and  ideas  which  will  take 
rule.  The  age  may  yet  culminate  in  song.  When  the 
certainties  shall  have  come  round  again  with  a  deeper 
meaning,  and  the  spiritual  shall  have  regained  the 
supremacy,  not  by  reaction,  but  by  advance  and  prog- 


348  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

ress,  we  may  find  amongst  us  those  who  can  give  us  the 
vision  of  the  new  earth  and  the  new  heaven. 

But  if  our  times  promise  originahty  rather  than  illus- 
.  trate  its  highest  workings,  more  than  this,  I  think,  can 
be  said  for  that  expression  of  greatness  which  I  have 
termed  authority.  I  believe  that  our  age  will  go  into 
history  as  one  of  the  masterful  ages,  not  merely  in  the 
show  of  power  but  in  the  reality  of  it.  Even  on  the 
material  plane,  results  have  been  achieved  which  bear 
the  stamp  of  the  authoritative  mind.  As  has  been 
pointed  out  by  others,  the  millionaire  is  no  longer  the 
man  of  painful  thrift  and  miserly  savings,  but  the  man 
of  calculation,  of  broad  plans,  and  equally  bold  ven- 
tures, not  usually  reckless  if  sometimes  unscrupulous. 
A  term  has  arisen  in  our  day  covering  a  vast  deal  of 
enterprise  very  largely  speculative,  but  which  also 
covers  enterprises  that  have  become  events.  I  refer 
to  the  term  promoter  or  projector.  A  few  years  ago  a 
picture  was  hung  in  the  New  York  Chamber  of  Com- 
merce, representing  a  meeting  of  the  promoters  of  the 
Atlantic  Cable  at  the  home  of  Cyrus  W.  Field  in 
Gramercy  Park.  Each  of  the  group  there  represented 
had  achieved  high  success  in  business  or  professional 
life — Peter  Cooper,  Marshall  O.  Roberts,  David  Dud- 
ley Field,  Moses  Taylor,  Professor  Samuel  Morse,  and 
Cyrus  W.  Field,  the  brain,  heart,  and  right  hand  of  the 
daring  project.  Measure  the  work  of  this  great  pro- 
moter by  any  possible  test  which  can  be  applied  to  the 
authoritative  element  in  greatness  and  what  is  lacking? 
Not  faith  nor  courage,  not  patience,  not  power  over  the 
unwilling  and  defiant  forces  of  nature,  not  persuasion 
over  the  reluctant  and  unassured  hearts  of  men,  not 
the  discipline  of  defeat,  not  the  greater  discipline  of 


THE   STUDY  OF  GREATNESS         349 

success.  The  undertaking  there  commemorated  was 
characteristic.  It  illustrates  the  tremendous  compel- 
ling force  which  has  marked  the  generation.  Enter- 
prises which  seemed  great  in  their  inception  seem 
greater  in  their  accomplishment.  They  bear  the  test  of 
competition  with  the  vaster  movements  and  combina- 
tions to  which  they  have  given  rise. 

But  there  are  far  nobler  forces  than  those  hidden  in 
nature  or  exposed  in  the  markets  of  the  world,  which  the 
master  minds  of  the  generation  have  dominated  and 
controlled.  At  the  risk  of  over  much  illustration,  I 
want  to  bring  out  the  higher  phases  of  this  element  of 
authority.  Few  ages  have  witnessed  such  uprisings  of 
strong  popular  instincts  as  we  have  had  occasion  to 
witness.  One  instinct  has  been  the  passion  for  national 
unity.  Who  among  the  older  of  those  present  does 
not  recall  the  enthusiasm  which  attended  the  struggle 
for  the  unification  of  Italy.  But  all  the  moves  in  the 
long  and  dangerous  game  leading  up  to  that  result  were 
made  in  one  brain.  For  ten  years  Cavour  planned,  and 
kept  silent,  planned  and  negotiated,  planned  and 
fought,  till  victory  made  Italy  one  and  free,  according 
to  its  birthright  and  inheritance. 

Then  came  his  successor  in  another  field,  illustrating 
still  more  clearly  the  compelling  force  of  greatness, 
Bismark,  the  iron  hearted.  Bismark  had  the  German 
conservatism  to  work  in  and  through,  not  the  Italian 
sentiment  and  passion.  His  own  patriotism  was  of  a 
different  order  from  that  of  Cavour,  more  calculating, 
in  a  sense  more  mechanical  in  its  methods  and  more 
objective  in  its  aims.  At  first  it  seemed  to  have  been 
concerned  with  the  rectification  of  boundaries.  "Prus- 
sia," he  says,  "has  an  unfortunate,  impossible  configura- 


350  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

tion:  it  wants  a  stomach  on  the  side  of  Cassel  and 
Nassau,  it  has  a  dislocated  shoulder  on  the  side  of  Han- 
over; it  is  in  the  air,  and  this  painful  situation  compels 
it  to  turn  without  rest  in  the  orbit  of  the  holy  alliance. 
Prussia  must  round  itself  and  complete  its  unity."  To 
accomplish  his  end  both  prejudices  and  scruples  were  to 
be  overcome,  alliances  were  to  be  broken  and  made,  the 
secondary  states  of  Germany  were  to  be  awed,  and 
above  all  the  German  heart  was  to  be  fired  with  the  pas- 
sion for  empire.  We  know  the  result.  The  authorita- 
tive element  was  supreme.  The  unification  of  Germany 
is  without  question  the  boldest  example  of  authority  in 
modern  times,  albeit  the  act  itself  fairly  called  out  the 
witticism,  that  as  "the  Apostle  of  the  Reformation 
taught  the  doctrine  of  justification  by  faith,  the  Apostle 
of  the  Empire  taught  the  doctrine  of  justification  by 
success." 

Take  now  another  popular  instinct,  deeper  by  far 
than  the  craving  for  unity,  and  far  more  difficult  to 
awaken  and  guide,  the  instinct  of  justice,  of  which  we 
have  the  one  unapproachable  example  in  the  guidance  of 
the  American  people  by  Abraham  Lincoln  through  the 
Civil  War.  It  had  been  no  uncommon  thing  for  a  peo- 
ple to  fight  for  freedom.  We  had  fought  for  freedom, 
but  not  till  then,  to  make  others  free.  Then  came  the 
test  of  justice.  Would  the  nation  fight  for  national 
righteousness?  Would  it  sacrifice  property,  life,  pos- 
sibly existence,  that  justice  might  reign  without  let 
or  hindrance?  In  answer  to  this  question  it  may  be  said 
that  the  whole  nation  rose  to  greatness,  but  that  great- 
ness was  embodied  in  one  man  more  than  in  the  whole. 
The  thoughts  of  Lincoln  were  moral  axioms.  As  the 
nation  grew  more  earnest  it  did  not  reach  the  depth  of 


THE   STUDY  OF  GREATNESS         351 

his  seriousness.  The  national  conscience  never  carried 
the  burden  of  justice  which  weighted  his  soul. 

In  this  moral  fact  lay  the  secret  of  Lincoln's  author- 
ity. How  calm,  how  tender,  how  almost  pathetic  it  was, 
but  how  imperious  and  commanding !  Who  could  with- 
stand such  reasoning  as  his,  which  summoned  the  whole 
nature  into  the  service  of  the  argument?  I  recall  the 
remark  of  a  veteran  politician,  who  told  me  that  Mr. 
Lincoln  was  the  only  political  orator  who  could  change 
votes.  On  occasion  of  a  speech  at  Manchester  (New 
Hampshire)  more  than  two  hundred  men,  to  his  per- 
sonal knowledge,  left  the  hall  converted  to  Mr.  Lin- 
coln's political  faith.  Such  was  the  steady  and  grow- 
ing compulsion  with  which  he  held  the  conscience  of  the 
nation  till  its  task  and  his  task  was  done.  True,  we  did 
not  know  at  the  time  that  we  were  under  authority. 
Now  we  see  it  all,  and  understand  that  no  less  an  au- 
thority than  his,  and  of  no  other  kind,  could  have 
wrought  out  the  issue. 

Since  writing  this  paragraph,  I  have  read  Mr.  Emer- 
son's estimate  of  Lincoln  in  the  address  made  at  the 
funeral  service  held  in  his  own  town,  Concord,  on  the 
19th  of  April,  1865. 

"He — Lincoln — is  the  true  history  of  the  American 
people  in  his  time.  Step  by  step  he  walked  before  them : 
slow  with  their  slowness,  quickening  his  march  by  theirs, 
the  true  representative  of  the  people:  an  entire  public 
man:  father  of  his  country,  the  pulse  of  twenty  mil- 
lions throbbing  in  his  heart,  the  thoughts  of  their  minds 
articulate  in  his  tongue." 

I  repeat  my  statement  that  under  any  analysis  of 
greatness  which  recognizes  authority,  our  age  will  rank 
as  one  of  the  masterful  ages.     Examples  of  this  com- 


352  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

pelling  force  are  too  many  to  waken  surprise.  It  has 
been  the  method  of  the  age.  No  result  has  been 
achieved  in  the  subjugation  of  nature,  or  in  the  consoli- 
dation of  states,  or  in  the  massing  of  men  under  the 
spur  of  sentiment  or  conscience,  which  has  not  borne 
witness  to  it. 

In  passing  now  to  consider  the  beneficent  element  in 
contemporary  greatness,  we  are  at  once  impressed  with 
the  fact  that  the  other  elements  of  greatness  have  tended 
to  beneficence.  Originality  in  the  form  of  research  and 
investigation  has  left  an  appreciable  result  of  physical 
and  social  good.  Authority  has  been  the  instrument  of 
public  gain  far  more  than  of  personal  aggrandizement. 
No  political  movement  of  our  time  has  culminated  in 
the  fame  of  one  man,  like  Napoleon,  but  all  have  reached 
their  end  in  the  advancement  of  a  nation  or  a  race. 

But  we  are  now  concerned  not  so  much  with  that 
beneficence  which  is  the  result  of  other  forms  of  great- 
ness, as  with  that  beneficence  which  is  in  itself  a  motive 
and  an  incentive  to  greatness.  The  greatness  of  many 
great  men  can  be  traced  directly  to  beneficent  motives. 
Without  it  they  would  never  have  risen  above  the  com- 
monplace. Neither  the  originating  nor  the  authorita- 
tive element  would  have  been  sufficient.  Such  was  the 
origin  of  the  greatness  of  Howard,  and  of  some  of  the 
earlier  philanthropists.  Such  the  origin  of  the  great- 
ness of  the  majority,  not  all,  of  the  anti-slavery  agi- 
tators and  reformers. 

Is  the  spirit  of  beneficence  still  at  work  with  suffi- 
cient intensity  and  constancy  to  produce  greatness?  I 
wish  it  were  possible  to  give  a  clear  and  unhesitating 
answer.  A  great  deal  depends  upon  the  power  of  the 
causes  which  appeal  to  us  in  the  name  of  humanity,  to 


THE   STUDY  OF  GREATNESS         353 

excite  the  imagination.  The  imagination  is  quite  as 
necessary  an  agent  in  beneficent  action  as  the  emotions. 
The  reahstic  often  fails  to  make  an  impression  in  any 
proportion  to  the  reahty.  It  is  the  wrong  or  the  need, 
over  which  the  imagination  can  brood,  which  compels  to 
sacrifice  and  heroism.  There  can  never  come  again  to 
this  age  such  a  call  as  that  which  came  to  Mills  and  his 
young  comrades  from  unknown  heathen  lands.  There 
is  no  more  mystery  about  any  land  or  race  on  the  face 
of  the  earth.  The  world  lies  open  to  our  view,  exposed 
in  its  want  and  evil.  Can  the  imagination  come  to  the 
aid  of  the  heart,  vivify  the  familiar  knowledge,  idealize 
the  hard,  dull  life  of  worn  and  weary  peoples  and  proph- 
esy the  new  creature  restored  to  the  image  of  God? 

In  the  old  cemetery  where  the  founder  of  my  college 
lies,  there  runs  the  epitaph  on  his  tomb — 

By  the  Gospel  He  Subdued  the  Ferocity 
OF  THE  Savage 
And  TO  THE  Civilized  He  Opened  New  Paths  of  Science. 

Traveller, 

Go,  If  You  Can  and  Deserve 

The  Sublime  Reward  of  Such  Merit." 

I  like  to  go  from  time  to  time  to  that  quiet  spot  and 
read  that  challenge  from  another  century.  It  seems  to 
say  to  me,  "Go,  if  you  can,  man  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury, and  match  the  heroism  of  the  men  who  set  up 
liberty,  learning,  and  religion  on  these  shores  and  sent 
out  their  light  into  all  the  world."  And  yet  it  is  hard 
for  one  age  to  accept  the  challenge  of  another.  Each 
age  must  meet  its  own  conflicts  and  opportunities.  The 
heroism  of  the  pioneers  of  liberty  must  find  new  tasks. 


354  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

The  spirit  of  consecration,  of  self  surrender,  of  devotion 
to  ends  above  self  cannot  today  remain  unsatisfied.  It 
will  create  its  own  opportunity.  It  will  take  posses- 
sion of  objects  which  might  otherwise  be  lowered  or  per- 
verted, and  lift  them  to  the  plane  of  duty. 

I  like  to  think  of  the  incentives  of  beneficent  great- 
ness which  are  centering  today  in  the  idea  of  patriotism. 
When  one  sees  the  amount  of  power  in  our  country 
which  is  on  its  way  to  fortune,  the  amount  of  physical, 
mental,  and  even  moral  power  which  is  seeking  material 
wealth,  one  has  no  question  about  the  result  in  power; 
but  he  asks  with  serious  question,  what  will  be  the  type. 
I  like  to  turn  from  the  uncertainty  of  the  issue,  in  all 
this  tumultuous  outgoing  of  power,  to  the  certain  result 
when  men  have  consecrated  themselves  in  definite  and 
lasting  ways  to  their  country,  content  to  make  its  for- 
tune their  fortune,  its  greatness  their  greatness.  I  say 
to  you  in  all  sincerity  that  a  noble  relief  upon  the  back- 
ground of  materialism  is  to  be  found  in  the  self  sur- 
render of  men  who  have  given  their  life,  their  fortune, 
and  their  honor  to  the  service  of  their  country  in  the 
army  and  in  the  navy.  It  is  a  chivalrous  thing  to  do 
amid  the  splendid  allurements  of  material  prosperity. 
But  it  has  its  reward. 

Your  own  profession,  gentlemen,  is  one  of  the  best 
illustrations  of  the  fact  that  the  beneficent  motive  has 
its  future  opportunity,  and  also  that  if  the  opportunity 
be  taken,  the  result  is  greatness. 

These  are  the  tests  to  which  the  greatness  of  our  time 
as  of  all  time  must  submit  itself — originality,  authority, 
beneficence.  These  are  the  tests  which  we  must  learn 
to  apply  to  men  who  lay  claim  to  greatness.  These  are 
the  tests  which  we  must  apj^ly  to  ourselves  under  the 


THE   STUDY  OF  GREATNESS         865 

stress  of  our  ambitions  and  desires.  It  is  not  necessary 
that  we  should  satisfy  all  these  tests  equally,  but  no  one 
of  them  can  be  ignored,  and  as  we  lessen  one  we  must 
enlarge  the  others. 

It  may  not  be  amiss  for  me  to  remind  you  as  I  close 
that  the  discussion  of  the  hour  has  turned  upon  the 
idea  of  greatness  in  distinction  from  that  of  genius. 
"Genius,"  John  Foster  says,  "lights  its  own  fires." 
There  is  an  independent  and  incalculable  element  in  it 
which  forbids  classification.  We  cannot  arrange  genius 
in  types.  It  illustrates  nothing  except  itself.  It  enters 
an  age,  but  leaves  no  open  door  behind  it.  Genius  is 
without  companionship,  save  in  the  universal  heart,  and 
is  above  the  effect  of  enmities.  We  are  moved  by  it, 
enlightened,  stimulated,  but  it  can  tell  us  httle  or  noth- 
ing of  itself,  and  it  cannot  help  us  to  interpret  ourselves 
or  our  times. 

Greatness  is  appreciable.  It  can  be  understood  and 
utilized.  There  are  gradations  which  lead  up  step  by 
step  from  the  common  to  the  great.  We  may  not  be 
able  to  take  them,  but  we  can  see  them.  Great  men 
were  not  always  great.  They  had  a  beginning  and  a 
growth  and  a  consimimation  of  power.  Genius  is  the 
same  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  We  cannot  trace 
its  sources  nor  define  its  limits. 

The  effect  of  genius  lasts  from  age  to  age,  but  we  are 
moved  by  contemporary  greatness  as  we  are  not  moved 
by  the  greatness  of  other  times.  I  do  not  forget,  as  I 
say  this,  the  mythical  element  which  time  contributes 
to  great  deeds  and  great  men.  It  seems  to  put  them 
beyond  the  reach  of  criticism.  But  with  this  advantage, 
they  do  not  greatly  affect  us.  Unconsciously  it  may  be, 
but  with  hardly  an  exception,  we  make  allowance  for  the 


356  PUBLIC  MINDEDNESS 

effect  of  time,  and  turn  to  those  of  like  passions  with 
ourselves.  In  eliminating  faults,  we  eliminate  life. 
Our  contemporaries  may  suffer  from  underestimation, 
but  they  walk  amongst  us  in  flesh  and  blood. 

I  deprecate  the  merely  critical  attitude  of  the  schools, 
or  of  educated  men,  toward  contemporary  greatness. 
Criticism,  if  it  is  intelligent  and  honest,  is  wholesome  to 
those  who  give  and  to  those  who  receive,  but  its  office 
at  best  is  secondary.  The  thoughtful  man  should  be 
sympathetic,  appreciative,  discerning.  A  great  man, 
despite  his  faults,  is  the  greatest  possession  of  an  age, 
next  to  a  principle  or  a  truth.  Through  him  one  inter- 
prets the  collective  life  of  his  time ;  through  him  he  reads 
the  history  of  the  age.  Through  him  he  gets  his  proper 
approach  to  human  nature.  The  great  danger  which 
besets  us  in  our  estimation  of  human  nature  is  that  of 
indifference  or  of  contempt.  The  average  man  may  not 
interest  us.  But  if  we  are  to  do  with  men  in  the  way 
of  utilizing  or  controlling  them,  we  must  know  them; 
and  the  first  condition  of  knowledge  is  interest,  then 
respect,  then  faith.  I  have  tried  to  show  you  what 
seems  to  me  to  be  the  true  way  into  our  common  human- 
ity. The  greater  man,  whom  we  can  know,  honor,  and 
trust,  not  the  lesser  man,  whom  we  have  not  yet  learned 
to  know  and  measure,  should  be  our  guide. 


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CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
University  of  California,  Saji  Diego 


DATE  DUE 

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UCSD  Libr. 

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